The Book of Abraham the Mage
by Paimpont
Summary: When three Hogwarts students are murdered, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon goes undercover as the new DADA teacher. Assisted by Harry, Hermione, and his old flame Professor Septima Vector, Langdon unearths deadly ancient secrets at Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**~~The Book of Abraham the Mage~~**

by Paimpont

...

**Summary:** When three Hogwarts students are found murdered and clues point to the involvement of a sinister secret society, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon goes undercover as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Assisted by Harry, Hermione, and his old flame Professor Septima Vector, Langdon unearths deadly ancient secrets that may illuminate the origins of magic itself. (Harry Potter/Da Vinci Code crossover)

**Warnings:** Murder, violence, some swearing, rogue symbology and rampant conspiracy theories, some Harvard-bashing. Romance Robert Langdon/Septima Vector and Harry/Hermione.

**Setting: **Mostly Hogwarts during Harry's 6th year, with excursions to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Mostly canon-compatible, except for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher.

**...**

**~Prologue~**

_Finally! The fabled book of Abraham the Mage is mine at last. Its powerful ancient secrets have been revealed to me, and me alone. __Everything is going according to plan. The Spear of Destiny will soon be mine. _

_My loyal servant at Hogwarts has removed every last obstacle that stood in my way. The murders were a little melodramatic, but at least he did not hesitate to do what was necessary. Perhaps I will reward him when all this is over. Or perhaps I will kill him, just to be safe. I have not decided yet. Perhaps he senses my thoughts, for he has seemed nervous around me lately. At least he recognizes true power when he sees it. The rest of the wizarding world trembles in fear of that ludicrous _poseur _who calls himself Voldemort. Tom Riddle was always given to melodrama, and I have watched his little charades with amusement. Oh, _why_ must evil always be so terribly ostentatious? __"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" and his "Death Eaters"! No one, except my loyal servant, has any inkling that the so-called Dark Lord is simply a pawn in my game, a minion of the true master of magic. I do not give myself pretentious names; I do not commit random acts of violence simply because I can. I choose to linger, unknown and nameless, in the shadows, until the time is right. _

_Riddle (I refuse to call him by that other ridiculous name he has given himself) has been nervous lately as well. He is not just afraid of me, which he should be; he is worried (of all things) about Harry Potter, and about the prophecy about the two of them that shattered at the Ministry of Magic. Frankly, I am growing tired of listening to his endless ramblings about the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter! I find myself laughing at the idea that the boy poses a threat to anyone. I know Harry quite well, of course, and never once has Harry begun to suspect my true character. Honestly, I don't think the boy is all that bright, although he does seem to be born under some sort of lucky star that has protected him thus far. _

_But not even Harry's lucky star can protect him from what is coming..._

_..._

**~Chapter One~**

_**In which Professor Langdon sees an old friend, learns a thing or two about magic, encounters a snarky potions master, and discovers one of the uses of dragon's blood.**_

"Magic," said Robert Langdon, looking out over the packed Harvard auditorium, "is nothing but a _symbol. _Magic is not a mysterious supernatural force, a well-defined set of ritual practices, or a collection of utterances or spells in obscure ancient languages. _Magic_ is merely the name a particular culture gives to those beliefs and practices that lie outside the accepted social and religious norms. Magic is a symbol of everything a culture rejects and fears - in short, "magic" is nothing but a symbol of otherness."

The audience applauded enthusiastically as the professor finished his lecture. Several distinguished scholars and eager young students came up to him afterwards and asked questions.

But eventually, even the most ardent students had dispersed, and there was only one person left in the auditorium, a dark-haired woman who lingered in the back. Something about her struck Langdon as familiar; had he perhaps met her at one of the many scholarly conferences he attended?

As he put his papers away in his briefcase, she came up to him and said softly: "Hello, Robert."

He recognized her then. It had been twenty years since he had last seen her, but he would never forget that soft musical voice.

"Septima? Septima Vector?" He stared at her for a moment. _She has not changed at all, _he thought. _She is just as lovely as she was the day she broke up with a foolish, self-important young man twenty years ago._

He reached out and hugged her, and to his relief, she hugged him back. Perhaps twenty years was, after all, too long to stay mad.

"Septima! How wonderful to see you after all these years!" _Her hair still smells like flowers... _"What are you up to these days? Are you still teaching at that exclusive boarding school in some remote area of Scotland?"

"How well you remember, Robert!" Her smile was as enchanting as ever. " Yes, I'm still teaching at Hogwarts. I've been quite happy there."

Langdon was still amused at the name he had first heard when they had parted twenty years ago. _Hogwarts! The British have a thing for odd names, don't they?_ he thought to himself.

"And you have become a Harvard professor," she said softly. "I see your name in the papers sometimes: _Robert Langdon, the famous Harvard symbologist, solves yet another mystery_..."

He laughed, both embarrassed and pleased that she knew of his reputation.

"As a matter of fact," she said quietly, "that's why I've come to see you, Robert. Terrible things have been happening at Hogwarts, you see..."

"Terrible things-?"

"Murders." Her voice had sunk to a whisper now. "Apparently, a secret society of some kind is involved... The headmaster is deeply concerned. Normally, he would never consent to bring in an outsider, but when I told him about you, he was quite intrigued."

Langdon tried to picture in his mind what the headmaster of a school with an absurd name like "Hogwarts" would look like, but his imagination failed him.

Septima Vector put her hand on his arm. "Could we go somewhere and talk, Robert? Some place private?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Let's go back to my place. I don't live too far from campus..."

As they headed out of the now empty auditorium together, he couldn't help asking: "So, what did you think of my talk?"

Septima Vector smiled and shook her head a little. "Magic is nothing but a "symbol of otherness"? I think we have a great deal to talk about, Robert."

...

"Nice wand collection." Septima Vector studied Professor Langdon's living room wall with a slight smile and accepted the glass of wine he offered her.

"Thank you." He poured himself a glass of wine as well and lit a few candles. "I've collected quite a few interesting artifacts while doing research for my book, _The Semiotic Spell: Magic as a Symbol of Alterity._"

"Yes, I've read you book, Robert."

"Have you?" He was half hoping for a compliment - it _had_ been one of his most critically acclaimed works, after all - but Septima remained silent, studying the wands displayed on the wall intently.

"Ever tried any of these?" she asked softly.

He laughed. "Oh, yes, I waved them about a bit, but I'm afraid nothing magical happened."

"Can I try?"

He smiled. "Of course. I would recommend the ivory one from Burma; the man who sold it to me swore it was a genuine magical wand."

"An _i__vory _wand_?_ Seriously, you paid money for that?" She put her wine glass down on the table and shook her raven hair out of her eyes. After a moment's hesitation, she reached for one of the plain wooden wands. "I think I will try this one."

He watched in amusement as she grasped the blackthorn wand and held it out in front of her. It should have looked a little odd, he reflected, an elegant modern woman in a dark business suit holding a magic wand, but somehow it didn't. Perhaps it was the warm flickering light of the candles falling softly over her lovely features that made her look like some medieval enchantress, or perhaps it was her hair; the raven locks cascading down her back made her look like she could very well be a witch from a bygone age...

"Are you ready, Robert?"

"Absolutely."

But he wasn't. Nothing could have prepared Robert Langdon for the sheer impossibility of what happened next. Septima Vector gave the blackthorn wand a little flick and said softly: "_Avis!_"

And suddenly, Professor Langdon's living room filled with birds, magnificent birds of every imaginable color, _real _birds... Wings fluttered, small beaks pecked at the precious rare books on his shelves, and a cacophony of chirps and trills broke out.

"What-?" Robert Langdon staggered backwards and sank heavily down onto the sofa. A little blue bird settled on his arm and plucked at his tweed jacket. He stared at it, mesmerized.

"Are you all right, Robert?" Septima Vector's voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.

He stared up at her. Slowly, he shook his head.

"_Finite incantatem!_" She waved the wand again, and the birds flickered and dissolved, leaving nothing but a few stray feathers behind.

Robert Langdon sat completely still for a moment. Then he reached for his wine glass and emptied it in one gulp. "What... what just happened, Septima?"

"Magic," she said sweetly. She sat down next to him on the sofa, and he stared at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time in his life.

"Magic..." He felt dizzy. "So... So that means that you are a..."

"A witch. Yes."

"And all my painstaking research, all my internationally acclaimed work on magic, which demonstrates conclusively that magic is nothing but a symbol is..."

"Wrong, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Robert." He felt her hand stroking his hair, and he remembered that she used to do that, long ago, whenever he was upset. The gesture still felt comforting to him.

"And how long... have you been a witch?"

She smiled a little. "I have always been a witch, Robert. You can't _become_ a witch, you see; you are either born with the ability to do magic or not. I discovered that I could do magic when I was very young, but it was not until I got to Hogwarts that I learned how to control my magic."

"Hogwarts? The boarding school? The place where you work?"

She nodded. "Yes, exactly. The place where I'm currently employed as a Professor of Arithmancy. It's no ordinary boarding school, but a school for witchcraft and wizardry. I went there myself as a child, at eleven, and I stayed there until I was seventeen."

"You went to a school for witches and wizards?" Robert Langdon whispered. He wondered if he was dreaming. "And then you came to Princeton?"

Septima Vector smiled. "Yes. Then I came to Princeton as a college student, and I met you."

Their eyes met, and Langdon felt himself blush a little.

"But why didn't you ever tell me, Septima? All those times we discussed magic, and I insisted that there was no such thing... You could have told me, you know."

She shook her head. "Oh, we are not supposed to tell anyone about our abilities. We try to keep our world a secret from the Muggles, from the non-magical population. We don't want another era of witch-hunts, do we?"

He tried desperately to process what she had just told him. Magic was real, witches existed... And there was still a little blue feather on his arm to prove it. But the witches and wizards were a secret society of sorts, keeping the secrets of their powers to themselves... He looked at her, perplexed. "But then - why are you telling me now?"

"Oh, Robert." She sighed. "I had no choice. We need you, you see. Nobody can make heads or tails of the terrible things that have been happening at Hogwarts. Perhaps you, who have solved such bizarre and complicated mysteries in the past, can help us discover what is going on. Will you help us, Robert?"

Langdon could not quite shake off the odd feeling of unreality. Perhaps, he reflected, none of this was real... Perhaps he had lost his mind, perhaps this was all a hallucination of some sort... But even if this was a bizarre delusion, it was a hallucination that promised magic and mystery. And the company of a very lovely witch.

He smiled. "Of course I will help, Septima. Tell me everything..."

...

A few hours and several glasses of wine later, Robert Langdon had learned a great deal about Hogwarts, its four houses and its magical curriculum, about wands, broomsticks and floo powder, the strange sport of Quidditch, the Ministry of Magic, dragons and basilisks, a dark wizard whose name should not be uttered, and a sixth year student who was believed to be "The Chosen One".

He shook his head, dazed. "That's quite a tale, Septima!" he said softly.

Her dark glance met his. "Perhaps it is," she said quietly. "But the strangest is yet to come..."

She hesitated for a moment before she continued. "The new semester started five days ago, at the beginning of September, as always. All the students and teachers had arrived, including the new potions master, Professor Slughorn. Professor Snape, the previous potions master, had agreed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts instead; it has always been his secret ambition to do so. The new students had been sorted into their houses, and everything seemed normal. And then..." Her voice trembled.

"And then what?" asked Langdon gently.

"And then _this_." She pulled something from the pocket of her suit jacket. Langdon leaned forward to see. _What was this?_

It was a photograph, but it was unlike any photo he had ever seen. It appeared to involve digital technology of some kind, for things seemed to move about in the picture.

"It's a wizarding photograph," explained Septima Vector, smiling a little at his baffled expression. "People and objects can move around in wizarding photographs, you see. This is taken in the Ravenclaw common room."

Langdon looked carefully at the picture. It showed a large airy room, tastefully decorated with blue and bronze tapestries. The curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open windows, and a piece of yellowed parchment moved about on a table. There were three people in the picture as well, but they did not move; they lay terribly still in the middle of the photograph.

"Oh, good God!" Langdon turned his glance away from the photo, sick at heart. "Were they...students?"

Septima Vector nodded silently.

"Who are they?"

Professor Vector's voice shook as she answered: "They were all Ravenclaw students, in their sixth year. Mandy Brocklehurst, Morag MacDougal, and Sally-Anne Perks..."

She buried her face in her hands. "Those poor, poor girls!" she whispered. "What kind of monster could possibly have done this?"

Langdon forced himself to look more closely at the gruesome picture. The three girls were obviously dead, and they appeared to have been stabbed to death by something long and sharp. A thin sword, or a spear, perhaps? They were lying side by side, as if the murderer had purposefully arranged their bodies neatly after death.

He swallowed, hard.

"Were there no clues as to the identity of the murderer? No fingerprints or..." What kinds of traces did witches and wizards leave behind? "Er... spell tracks?"

"Spell tracks?" A shadow of a smile flitted across Septima Vector's face. "No, nothing like that. But look at the piece of parchment in the photograph, right there on the table."

Langdon squinted and tried to make out the tiny letters on the fluttering piece of parchment. He read hesitantly: "_Lancea et clavus._"

"Does that sound familiar to you?"

He drew his breath deeply. "Yes, of course. _Lancea et clavus domini..._ "The lance and nail of the Lord"... That's the famous inscription from the fabled Lance of Longinus, the Spear of Destiny. Legend tells us that this spear was the one that pierced Christ's side during the crucifixion. The Lance of Longinus, the most famous relic of them all, after the Holy Grail itself... The lance was rumored to be a magical object of tremendous power. Many spears were thought at different times to be the true Lance, but many believe that the one kept in the Holy Roman Empire was the real one. The emperor Charles the IV added a golden band to this spear that bears the famous inscription, identifying it as the "lance and nail of the Lord". In the 15th century, the emperor Sigismund moved the spear, along with the other sacred treasures of the empire, to his new capital in Nuremberg. Later, during the French revolution, Nuremberg was under attack by the French, and the city council of Nuremberg decided to send the sacred lance to Vienna to keep it safe. When Austria was taken over by Germany in 1938, the lance was yet again returned to Nuremberg. In fact, conspiracy theorists have long speculated that Hitler started World War II for the sole purpose of getting his hands on the Spear of Destiny. After World War II, the spear was recovered by U.S . troops, and General Patton eventually returned it to Austria. It is currently on display in a museum in Vienna, but the spear in the museum is rumored to be a fake; many believe that the real Spear of Destiny was stolen along the way and hidden somewhere by a secret society devoted to protecting it."

Septima Vector smiled faintly. "You certainly know your conspiracy theories, Robert! Yes, that is more or less the story of the lance as it is remembered in the wizarding world as well, except that _our_ legends tell us that Charles the IV, who was a wizard himself, displayed a copy of the real lance among his treasures, while the true Spear of Destiny was safely hidden somewhere at Hogwarts. At least, that is what I read in _Hogwarts: A History _when I was a student. An interesting enough legend, but no one has ever found the true spear, to the best of my knowledge. But look more closely at the piece of parchment, Robert; I'm afraid you've misread it."

Langdon bent over the photograph again. Ah, he could see it now; Septima was right. That was not a _u _but an _i_. _Clavis_, not _clavus._

_"__Lancea et clavis_... Not "the lance and the nail", but "the lance and the _key_". _Clavis_, a key that opens a door, or the key to a secret code..."

"_Lancea et clavis,_" said Septima Vector softly, "is the motto of a secret society that once existed in the wizarding world, _The Order of the Black Raven. _The society is mentioned in our history books, but it is thought to have died out long ago. Little is know about the Order of the Black Raven, except for a few curious pieces of legendary lore. The members of the Order were all members of the House of Ravenclaw, which includes some of the most distinguished wizards through the ages. The members of the Order were sworn to secrecy, and very little is known about the mysteries the Order guarded. But there were rumors that they were the chosen guardians of an ancient magical artifact of immense power: The Spear of Destiny. The secrets of the spear and of the order itself are said to be recorded in a lost codex entitled _The Book of Abraham the Mage._"

"The Book of Abraham the Mage?" Langdon frowned. "I am familiar with the name; it's a fabled alchemical treatise that is rumored to have belonged to the French alchemist Nicolas Flamel."

"The rumors are entirely true, Robert," said Septima Vector quietly. "The codex did indeed belong to Nicolas Flamel at one point, although it predates him by many centuries. Nicolas Flamel was a great wizard and a superb alchemist; it is hardly surprising that rumors of his abilities began to reach the Muggle World as well. These days, the Ministry of Magic is very careful to prevent any rumors of wizarding activities from reaching the Muggle population, but they were considerably more lax about these things back in the Middle Ages."

"Don't tell me Nicolas Flamel went to Hogwarts as well..." said Langdon weakly.

Professor Vector smiled. "Of course he did. Nowadays, young French witches and wizards attend Beauxbatons, a magic school in the Pyrenees, but in the 14th century, when the school in France was still quite new, many French wizarding families chose to send their children to Hogwarts instead. Flamel was in Ravenclaw House, and it is possible that he himself was a member of the Order of the Black Raven. But at some point - no one know precisely when - the Order of the Black Raven fell apart. Apparently, some of the members had begun to dabble in the dark arts, and others were deeply concerned by this. There are rumors of a brutal murder that was subsequently hushed up, and the order was never heard from again. That is, until three days ago, when a piece of parchment bearing the motto of the Order of the Black Raven was found next to the bodies of three murdered Ravenclaw students."

"Has there been an investigation into their deaths? Has the police -?" Langdon hesitated. _Is there such a thing as wizarding police_? he wondered.

Septima Vector sighed. "The bodies were found by a house-elf shortly after dawn. No other students were up yet. The house-elf notified the headmaster immediately, and the headmaster contacted the Ministry of Magic. Normally, they would have shut down the school immediately if something were to happen to one of the students. They remaining students would have been sent home until the culprit had been caught. But there is something very, very odd going on here, Robert..."

Septima Vector got up and began pacing restlessly back and forth in Robert Langdon's living room. "You see, the Minister himself insists that the murders must be hushed up, and that any investigation must take place behind the scenes, without the students or their parents knowing anything about it. I don't know why... The bodies of the three unfortunate girls were removed, and their families notified privately by the ministry, but the other students know nothing of what happened. Apparently, a rumor has been spread among the students that the three girls were expelled due to some unidentified misbehavior. The headmaster had a heated argument with the Minister of Magic, but to no avail: The Minister insists that Professor Dumbledore must keep everything secret and handle the investigation himself, with the aid of the teachers. And then I thought of you-"

She flushed a little. "Professor Dumbledore is as brilliant as he is unconventional. He agreed that your expertise on secret societies and your experience with solving mysteries more than makes up for the fact that you are not a wizard. I came to see you with his blessing, hoping to bring you back to Hogwarts with me."

Langdon smiled. "Of course, Septima. I would be glad to offer any help I can." A sudden thought struck him. "But won't the students wonder why this... what was the word? Muddle?"

"Muggle."

"Won't they wonder why this Muggle, who is not supposed to know anything about the existence of magic, suddenly starts roaming about their magical school?"

There was a mischievous glint in Septima Vector's dark eyes as she answered: "Of course not, Robert. Professor Dumbledore came up with the most ingenious idea, you see. Professor Langdon, I am here to offer you the position of teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

"_What?_"

"Professor Slughorn is in on the plan; he will leave Hogwarts due to a sudden illness, and Professor Snape will resume his old job as potions master. Which will leave the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher open..."

"Septima..." Langdon shook his head, slowly. Had she taken completely leave of her senses? He knew a great deal about the occult from his years of research, it was true, but _teaching_ it, to real witches and wizards? "That's absurd, Septima. I don't have any magical abilities. The students will discover that on the first day. They will never believe that the headmaster hired a... a Muggle teacher..."

"Not a Muggle, Robert." Septima's eyes glittered. "From now on, you are a squib."

He gaped. "A _squid_?" All right, perhaps he _was_ dreaming, after all.

She giggled. "No, a _squib_. A person from a wizarding family who is born without magical abilities. It happens, you see. Squibs, unlike Muggles, know about magic and are familiar with our world. In theory, there is no reason why a squib could not become a Hogwarts professor. There may be some initial resistance from some of the students, of course, but you _do_ have rather extensive theoretical knowledge of magic, and I dare say our students could learn a thing or two from you. What do you say, Robert?"

"I..." There were a great many things he could have said, sensible and rational things. But when he looked into the dark eyes of Septima Vector he couldn't think of any of them. He sighed. "Oh, all right. When do we leave?"

"Tonight. We can still catch a late flight to London. You won't need to pack much; Dumbledore will have robes and things ready for you when you get there."

"Right. I'll just grab my laptop and my cell phone."

"Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you about that. None of those things will work once we get to Hogwarts."

"What?"

"Too much magic in the air."

"Sounds like the title of a cheesy love song."

She laughed. "I'll give you a few books to read on the plane. You will be able to catch up on _Hogwarts, A History_ and a few essential volumes on Defense Against the Dark Arts during our flight. Thank God for your photographic memory."

"And once we get to London, how will we travel to Hogwarts? By broomstick, I assume?"

"Oh, don't be absurd, Robert." There was an undeniable twinkle in her eye now. "It would take us a day and a half to get there by broomstick, and you are not an experienced flier."

_What? Witches _are_ still flying around on broomsticks, then?_

Septima went on. "I will give you a map of Hogwarts and its surroundings as well. You should study that while we travel."

"No broomsticks, then?"

"No. Another Hogwarts professor offered to pick us up in London and drive us to the school. Severus Snape."

"The potions master, right?"

Septima Vector nodded. "Yes, the potions master." She hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding: "And also my ex-husband."

Robert Langdon's heart sank.

...

Langdon regarded the dark-haired man who met them at the airport in London with a great deal of dislike. It wasn't that the potions master was handsome exactly - his hooked nose was too large for that, and his skin too sallow - but he had a sort of dark, brooding elegance about him that rubbed Langdon the wrong way from the start. _A wizard? _He didn't look much like a wizard. No long beard or flowing robes; he was dressed in black jeans and white silk shirt and looked, Langdon reflected bitterly, more like a misunderstood poet than a potions master.

"So, you must be the famous _symbologist._ How very... interesting." Something about Snape's frosty voice suggested that he wasn't terribly enchanted with Langdon either, and Langdon felt his spirits lift a little. Perhaps Septima's mysterious ex-husband was jealous of him. The thought cheered him up immensely.

"The symbologist and the new Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," put in Septima softly.

Snape looked Robert Langdon over with a slow, lingering glance and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Ingenious," he said glacially. "What will our eccentric headmaster think of next? Instead of preparing the students to defend themselves against the Dark Lord and his followers by means of traditional spells and defensive magic, Dumbledore hires a Harvard _symbologist _to... to what, exactly? Teach them how to _Deconstruct the Dark Arts_? Vanquish the dark forces by writing a series of biting essays on hegemony? Well, the Dark Lord will certainly not see _that _coming... This way, please. I'm parked right over here."

Robert Langdon and Septima Vector followed Snape to his car in silence. The potions master's car turned out to be a rather lovely vintage black car adorned with a silver griffin emblem.

"What kind of car is this, Professor Snape? A Vauxhall Wyvern?" Best to keep up a pleasant conversation; the drive to Scotland was a rather long one.

The potions master nodded curtly. "Yes, it's a 1949 Vauxhall Wyvern Hybrid."

"A hybrid?" Langdon frowned. "What's that?"

Snape sighed and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. "It runs both on gasoline and magic. These cars were originally made for wizards who wished to be inconspicuous when driving among Muggles, but they have also become popular among Muggle collectors, I understand. Of course, the Muggles are not aware that the car is a hybrid; they merely drive it around using gas alone."

Langdon could not help but admire the sleek curves of the black car and its glittering chrome details. Yes, he could well imagine Muggles collecting cars like this...

"I wonder why the manufacturers called this model the "Wyvern"," he mused. "The symbol depicted on the car is clearly a _griffin_, rather than a wyvern or any other kind of dragon."

Snape shot him a contemptuous glance. "As I said, the car was originally made for _wizards, _Professor Langdon. The car is obviously not named after the symbol depicted on it, although this may be difficult for a _symbologist _to grasp. I told you it was a hybrid car. It is named after the fuel."

"The...fuel?"

"Yes, the fuel." Snape opened the front passenger door for Septima, but she chose the back seat instead. Robert Langdon hesitated, then sat down in the front passenger seat next to Snape. "The headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, has quite a knack for ingenious inventions. He was the first to discover all the twelve uses of dragon blood. Wyvern blood is very popular in hybrid cars."

"Ah."

Robert Langdon closed his door and glanced at Septima in the rear-view mirror. She was snuggled up in the back seat, eyes closed, apparently ready for a long nap.

Snape started the car's engine, and it sprang to life with a little snarl.

"Now, Professor Langdon," said Snape silkily, "perhaps you would be kind enough to enlighten me: What the hell is _symbology_?"

Robert Langdon sighed. It was clearly going to be a _very_ long ride.

...

Six hours later, just as Snape's sarcasm had turned to the possibilities of implementing a postmodern potions curriculum, their conversation was mercifully interrupted by Septima Vector.

She suddenly sat up straight in the back seat, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and whispered: "Robert! Look, we are almost there! Normally, Muggles aren't able to see Hogwarts, but the headmaster was able work some special spells before your arrival..."

The landscape outside the car windows had grown wilder and more rugged in the last hour or so; mountains rose in the misty distance, and the moors were covered with clouds of dark purple heather. They turned a bend in the road, and a deep blue lake came into view, and beyond it...

Robert Langdon drew his breath sharply. _Magic. _There was no other word for it. The ancient castle rose out of the mist, grey and primordial, as if had grown out of the wild landscape itself.

Septima Vector touched his shoulder lightly, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Langdon."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Thanks for the reviews and comments! Yes, the ever alert SomeGuyFawkes is of course right; neither Kindles nor regular hybrid cars were around in 1996. I have gone back and fixed that. Thanks, SomeGuy (and DeengoBlue as well!).**_

_**No, Beege - Septima Vector and Severus Snape were never married according to the canon - at least as far as we know. The canon is remarkably silent on the topic of the personal lives of the Hogwarts professors. The Hogwarts students seem to know **_**very **_**little about what's going on behind the closed doors of the teachers' lounge. This story will offer a glimpse of that other Hogwarts, seen from a staff perspective. Stand by for shocking revelations**__**...**_

_**...**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**In Which Professor Langdon Wonders about a Missing Hogwarts House, Meets an Ardent Fan, and Sees and Lady with a Raven**_

_**...**_

Snape drove up to a pair of colossal wrought iron gates flanked with statues of winged boars, rolled down his window and muttered what appeared to be a password: "_Ethpthah!" _

_Aramaic? _Langdon tried desperately to look unimpressed, but unfortunately, the potions master appeared to have caught the momentary flicker of surprise in his glance.

"Do you need me to translate that for you, Professor?" Snape asked with frost-tinged courtesy.

"No need for that, thank you. My Aramaic is quite fluent," Langdon replied, in what he sincerely hoped was a dignified, professional sort of voice.

The iron gates creaked open before them. Snape pulled the car up in front of the imposing main entrance, and Robert Langdon and Septima Vector stepped out of the car. They retrieved their luggage from the boot of the black Vauxhall Wyvern, and Langdon stood for a moment, awestruck, and gazed up at the magnificent castle that loomed before him. Langdon knew a great deal about British architecture, but Hogwarts was... well, _different _from any castle he had ever seen. The style was a sort of early Norman Gothic, of massive proportions, but imbued with a whimsy and playfulness the Normans had surely never possessed. Unexpected little turrets and decorative swirls peeked our here and there amid the heavy stone fortifications. Four towers rose against the darkening blue of the evening sky, and the entire castle seemed almost unreal in its towering beauty and antique strangeness.

"The parking garage is around to the left. I will join you for dinner as soon as I have parked the car," said Snape, in the same tone of frosty politeness.

"Parking garage?" Langdon blinked in surprise. _Hogwarts has a parking garage? _"I don't remember seeing a garage on the map of Hogwarts I memorized on the flight."

Snape snorted derisively. "Of course the garage is not on the map. It's _unplottable_, just like the teachers' lounge, the wine cellar, and our bedrooms. Did you really think we would let a bunch of underage wizards with half-baked magical abilities near our _cars_?" He shook his head in apparent surprise over Langdon's naivete and drove off to his unplottable parking spot.

Robert Langdon and Septima Vector walked slowly up the ancient stone steps towards the front door. The heavy oak door was adorned with an elaborate carving; Langdon recognized the four animals that symbolized the four houses of Hogwarts: The Gryffindor lion, the Ravenclaw eagle, the Hufflepuff badger, and the Slytherin serpent. _A nice representation of the four elements of the ancient Greeks, _he thought to himself, _fire, air, earth, and water. Represented by the fiery lion, the soaring eagle, the earthly badger, and the serpent of the waters. _

"So, where is the fifth house?" he asked as Septima waved her wand at the heavy oak door. The door groaned open before them, revealing flickering torchlight within.

"The fifth-?" She looked at him, blankly. "Just leave your suitcase here, Robert. The house-elves will bring it up to your room."

Langdon put his suitcase down on the flagged stone floor. The suitcase looked strangely out of place, a plaid modern oddity in the ancient torchlit hall.

"There should be a fifth house." His voice echoed weirdly among the stone walls. "The four houses of Hogwarts represent the four classical elements of the Greeks: Fire, air, earth, and water. But even Aristotle knew that there existed a fifth element: The mysterious invisible _ether._"

"Corresponding to an invisible fifth house of Hogwarts?" Septima laughed. "I'm afraid there is no such house. What an imagination you have, Robert!"

_A self-proclaimed witch, who has told me fantastic tales of basilisks and soul-sucking dementors, is accusing _me_ of having too much imagination... _But before he could complete the thought, Langdon heard running footsteps somewhere close by. _Students, late for dinner?_ Three teenagers dressed in school robes were storming through the hall, a wild-haired girl and two boys.

"No running in the hall, please!" said Septima Vector sternly, and the students skidded to a halt. "So sorry, Professor Vector," said the girl breathlessly. "I was working on an arithmancy problem, you see, and I didn't hear the bell."

The three students glanced curiously at Langdon, who shot them a friendly grin. The two boys grinned back, but the girl whispered: "_Oh, my God! _You... You are _Robert Langdon, _aren't you?"

The two boys, a tall and lanky one with red hair and a shorter one with dark hair and glasses, stared at Langdon without any apparent recognition.

"You are the famous Harvard symbologist who solved all those mysteries!" The girl looked at him with undisguised adoration.

Septima Vector groaned. "So much for your undercover mission, Robert."

"Oh!" The girl's brown eyes widened, and she blushed furiously. "Oh. I'm so terribly sorry. I didn't mean..."

"That's all right, Miss Granger. You didn't know."

The door to the entrance hall swung open, and Snape swooped in, now dressed in dark robes that made him look like an elegant vampire. Langdon noted, with some interest, that the two boys appeared to cringe at the sight of him.

"Taking points from Gryffindor already, Professor Langdon?" Snape asked pleasantly. "Or just stopping to admire Mr. Potter's famous scar?"

"Severus, we have a situation here," said Septima Vector briskly. "All of you, follow me into the weapons room. _Now!_"

She waved her wand at one of the walls, and a doorway appeared before them. The three students, Snape and Langdon followed her wordlessly into a small chamber filled with rusty suits of armor, a rather impressive collection of crossbows and arrows, a few silver swords, and a plump iron cannon that appeared to be in use as a towel drying rack at the moment.

"Wicked!" The red-haired boy gazed around the room in wonder. "I had no idea this room was here."

"I cannot imagine why the teachers forgot to mention this chamber to you, Mr. Weasley," said Snape softly. "But you can rest assured that it will remain most securely locked in the future."

They all crowded in among the antique armor and weaponry, and Septima Vector closed the door with a thud.

"So, is this part of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's guided tour of Hogwarts, Septima?" Snape still sounded caustic, but Langdon noted that there was an unexpected note of softness in his voice towards the end, when he spoke Septima's name.

"You are the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" The girl who had been addressed as "Miss Granger" stared, wide-eyed, at Langdon. "Oh, how _wonderful_! I _loved_ your book _The Semiotic Spell._"

"Oh." Langdon smiled at her. "Thank you so much, Miss... er... Granger. I'm glad you liked it. But surely, being a witch yourself, you must have been aware that the fundamental premise of the book is deeply flawed. Magic, I have recently discovered, is real after all."

The girl smiled a little at that. "Well, yes, of course. Your conclusions are all wrong, but your arguments are _so_ well constructed, I could not help but admire it."

Snape stifled a snort, but then he caught Septima's eye and appeared to develop a sudden interest in one of the crossbows. He studied it intently, a little smile hovering about his lips.

"Wait a minute." The dark-haired boy was looking fixedly at Langdon with luminous green eyes. "If you are some famous detective, what are you doing here at Hogwarts?"

_Ah. This must be the famous Boy Who Lived, _thought Langdon. _Harry Potter. _

Septima sighed. "All right. The cat's out of the bag. We might as well fill you in. Better you three than some others students I can think of... But the three of you have to give me your solemn word that you will never breathe a word of what is said in this room to anyone. Is that clear?"

The three students nodded silently.

Robert Langdon cleared his throat. "Well, since I'm to be your new professor, I may as well do the explaining." He drew a deep breath, and told the three students, as calmly and succinctly as he could, about the murders, the note with the mysterious phrase _Lancea et clavis, _and the headmaster's idea of bringing him in as an undercover investigator.

The students were, as expected, horrified to learn of the fate of the three Ravenclaw girls.

"I had wondered what happened to Sally-Anne..." whispered Miss Granger. "There have been all sorts of rumors about what the three girls had done to get themselves expelled. Drugs, wild parties... I could believe it of Mandy and Morag, but not Sally-Anne. She was the always so shy and quiet..."

"I heard that there were orgies," muttered the red-haired boy. "Centaurs were said to be involved."

"_Ron_!"

"Sorry, Hermione. Just telling you what I heard. Never believed a word of it myself."

"But if you are a Muggle, how are you going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" The Boy Who Lived looked doubtfully at Langdon.

Langdon smiled at him. "You will find out tomorrow morning, Harry."

"Draco Malfoy will give you hell, Professor." Harry sounded genuinely concerned.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Potter, no need for pessimism," said Snape softly. "Surely the famous Harvard symbologist will be able to handle a roomful of sixteen year olds without any trouble at all. I am certain Mr. Malfoy will treat your new teacher with all the respect he _deserves..._"

Langdon ignored him and turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Thank you for your concern, Harry, but I will deal with Mr. Malfoy. I have had my share of... er... _challenging _students at Harvard. As for the three of you, please try to find out as much as you can about the three Ravenclaw girls who were killed."

"We will report back to you with anything we are able to find out, sir," said Hermione Granger eagerly. "Oh, and may I make a suggestion, Professor?"

Langdon nodded. "Of course. Any time, Miss Granger. May I call you Hermione?"

Hermione blushed a little. "Yes, of course, sir. I was thinking that it may be a good idea for you to give Harry detention on your first day of teaching."

Langdon stared at her. "Give him detention? For what, exactly?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find something," muttered Snape.

To Langdon's surprise, Harry himself nodded. "Excellent idea, Hermione. That way, I can report anything we have discovered in the meantime to Professor Langdon without anyone thinking that it's odd that I'm going to his office, _and _the Slytherin students are bound to like anyone who gives me detention."

"Ah. I see." Langdon smiled at Harry. "In that case, Harry, I will be delighted to give you detention. You have fourteen hours to come up with a suitable offense. Now, shall we head to dinner? My friend Professor Vector assures me that the Hogwarts meals are a great deal better than British food in general."

...

Dinner at Hogwarts turned out to be nothing short of spectacular. The tables in the magnificent Great Hall were practically groaning under the weight of the enormous platters of roast beef, chicken, trout, savory pies, baked potatoes, peas, and buttered carrots.

Langdon, who had hastily donned dark robes over his suit, headed up to the staff table in front with Septima Vector and Snape. The students were already busy eating and chatting, but there was a momentary hush as he approached the high table where the teachers sat.

"You look good in wizard's robes, Robert!" whispered Septima, her dark eyes twinkling at him. "Some of the girls can't take their eyes off you!"

Snape must have heard her, for he said quietly: "Of course, these robes are a little different from the ones you use at Harvard graduations, Professor Langdon. Remind me what color the Harvard robes are-?"

Langdon sighed. "Crimson."

"Really? They do look rather _pink _to the untrained eye."

Langdon found a seat next to an enormous man with wild black hair and shaggy beard and a big, friendly smile.

"Hello there!" the giant boomed. "Yeh mus' be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Langdon, is it? Me name is Rubeus. Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper an' teacher."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hagrid." Langdon took an immediate liking to the friendly giant. "I understand that you teach Care of Magical Creatures? A fascinating field."

Hagrid beamed at him. "It is indeed, Mr. Langdon. Here - " He poured wine into Langdon's goblet from an enormous decanter on the table, and poured a couple of pints of the wine into his own oversized goblet as well. "Yeh oughta try this. Elf-made wine, the best kind there is."

"Really?" Langdon sipped his wine. He almost gasped in pure delight. "Good God! These - elves, did you say? - really know what they are doing, Mr. Hagrid."

Hagrid chuckled. "That they do, Mr. Langdon."

The house-elves Septima had told him about apparently knew what they were doing as well, for the food was as delicious as the wine. In between mouthfuls of roast and pie, Langdon quizzed Hagrid about the other staff members. The tiny professor on Langdon's right, who introduced himself as Filius Flitwick, chimed in helpfully as well.

"Now, that's the headmaster, of course, Professor Albus Dumbledore, in the middle," began Hagrid. "Great man, Dumbledore. Maybe one of the greatest wizards tha' ever lived."

Langdon looked curiously at the old man with the long white beard who looked like a frail Father Christmas. He could hear Dumbledore saying to the witch seated next to him: "Now, the question is: _Why _did the chimera cross the road?" _The greatest wizard of all time? _Langdon shook his head slightly.

"An' the witch next to him is Minerva McGonagall who teaches Transfiguration. Sharp as a nail, that one. She's head of Gryffindor House. An' Filius here is head of Ravenclaw."

Hagrid bent closer to Langdon and whispered loudly: "Been sweethearts for years they have, Minerva an' Filius, but we don't tell the students abou' our personal lives, see, so they don't know any of that."

Little Filius Flitwich sipped his wine wistfully. "Splendid woman, Minerva! I keep proposing to her, but she is hesitant. Her heart was broken, you see, by a scoundrel years ago, and that has made her wary of commitment. She says it would be ridiculous to marry at our age anyway..." He sighed a little.

"What about Professor Snape?" Langdon asked gently. "Is he... romantically involved? Perhaps the lady next to him - ?" He looked hopefully at the pretty dark-skinned witch next to Snape. She had a ready smile and a cheerful laugh - just what the sombre potions master needed.

"Aurora Sinistra?" Hagrid let out a guffaw. "Oh, lor' help us, Langdon, there's no way a pleasant lady like that'll look twice at a sour fella like our Severus. She's engaged to an auror, she is, bloke by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Hagrid leanded forward and whispered consipratorially: "If yeh ask me, Langdon, Severus has never gotten over Septima. _She _was the one who divorced _him_, yeh know, an' I think he still wants her back."

"I see." Langdon did not particularly care for the sound of this. "But Septima has moved on, I take it? Completely over him?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say _that..._" Hagrid helped himself to a few more pies. "But she's not easy to figure out, Septima. Keeps her thoughts to 'erself, she does." He went on, his mouth half-full of pie: "An' then there's Professor Hooch over there, who teaches Quidditch. The stern one with the spiky hair. Got a heart of gold, she does, althou' she doesn't want the students to know it and think she's soft. An' the little round lady next to her is Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor. Mighty good with everything that grows. The ugly fella with the cat lurking by his chair is Argus Filch, the caretaker. Odd little chap, he is, always looking to get the students in trouble. Mind yeh, he's a little slow sometimes, so he'll only catch the really dim or unlucky ones. Oh, an' that's Poppy Pomfrey, the matron, the little lady who looks like she's abou' to start handin' out some nasty medicine."

Langdon smiled a little. "And the ferocious lady next to her?"

"Oh, that's Irma. Madam Pince. She's the Hogwarts librarian."

Langdon made a mental note to make sure that all his library books were returned on time; he did not want to have to answer to Madam Pince for any delinquent volumes. His years spent doing research in the Special Collections at Harvard had installed in him a healthy fear of librarians.

"An' that's Cuthbert Binns, the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts. Oh, look, he's smiling at yeh."

Langdon stared for a second at the empty chair next to Madam Pince. _There's a ghost teacher in it? Better play along here. _He smiled and nodded pleasantly at the empty seat.

"And the two laughing ladies at the end are Bathsheda Babbling and Charity Burbage," said Filius Flitwick. "Bathsheda teaches Ancient Runes, and Charity is in charge of Muggle Studies. _Not _one of the most popular subjects, Muggle Studies. Too bad; I've always thought that we wizards should make more of an effort to understand the mysterious Muggles that surround us."

Langdon couldn't help smiling to himself at the thought of ordinary people appearing mysterious to the curious company at the table.

The remnants of his excellent dinner vanished and were instantly replaced by a splendid tiramisu, accompanied by a golden cup of filled with strong, hot coffee. There was really something to be said for magic.

"I met a couple of the students on my way in to dinner," he remarked to Hagrid. "Very pleasant kids."

Hagrid brightened visibly. "Oh, yes, I saw yer with Harry an' Ron an' Hermione. Some of the nicest young'uns ye'll ever meet. I reckon Hermione is smarter than all the teachers put together."

"Glad to hear it; it's always a pleasure to teach intelligent students. Her boyfriend seems pretty sharp, too."

"Her what-?" Hagrid stared blankly at him.

"Oh." Langdon corrected himself. "My mistake. I assumed that she was Harry Potter's girlfriend."

"Wha-?" Hagrid looked perplexed. Then he chuckled. "Oh, Lor', no, Mr. Langdon. It's the other one she fancies, Ron Weasley. Doesn't seem really serious or anything, though. I think Harry likes Ron's sister Ginny a bit - she's the one with the long red hair."

"I see." Langdon glanced curiously at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was talking to a girl across the table. Ron was busy eating his dessert while exchanging looks with a blond girl further down the table, while Harry's glance lingered on Hermione. _I'm not so sure you've got this one right, Hagrid._

As dessert was drawing to a close, Dumbledore got to his feet. A hush fell over the Great Hall.

Dumbledore regarded the expectant students with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "As you will no doubt have gathered, I have an announcement to make. As you may be aware, Professor Slughorn, our new Potions master, has fallen gravely ill and was compelled to return home for the rest of the school year. You will be relieved to hear that he is expected to make a full recovery, given sufficient time. As Professor Slughorn is unable to return to teaching at the moment, I have had to find a substitute. I am delighted to announce that Professor Snape has agreed to take up his old position as Potions master again..."

Judging by the faces of the students, most of them did not appear to share Dumbledore's delight at this news.

"... which has left the post of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts vacant," continued Dumbledore. He beamed genially at the students over his half-moon glasses. "Yet again."

There was some slight laughter among the students.

"They know that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is cursed, of course," muttered Filius Flitwick helpfully to Langdon.

"_What_?"

Dumbledore went on. "I am happy to announce that Professor Langdon, an eminent authority on the subject of the Dark Arts, has agreed to fill this position on very short notice. Please join me in welcoming Professor Langdon to Hogwarts."

Applause broke out, accompanied by a great many very curious glances. Langdon gave a brief bow, and Dumbledore dismissed the students for the evening.

As the students filed out of the Great Hall, Langdon found himself surrounded by new colleagues who shook his hand and welcomed him to Hogwarts. Was he imagining things, or was there a touch of pity in their glances as they greeted their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? He should probably find out what this curse business was at some point. Finally, Dumbledore grasped his arm and steered gently him away from the others.

"It is getting late, and you have had a long journey. Let me show you to your room, Professor Langdon. Up this staircase right here. Do mind the steps; they can be rather temperamental at times."

Langdon stared for a moment, aghast, at the moving staircase in front of them, then followed the elderly wizard carefully up the steps.

"Nice reflexes!" said Dumbledore approvingly, as Langdon leaped to avoid plunging down an unexpected chasm that had opened up as some of the steps vanished without warning. "Oh, hello, Sir Nicholas."

"How do you do, Sir, Nicholas?" said Langdon pleasantly to the empty space on Dumbledore's left, and the headmaster chuckled.

"Very convincing, Professor Langdon! I think you will do quite well here at Hogwarts. Ah, here we are. Your room is this first one on the right. I have taken the liberty of giving you Rowena Ravenclaw's own bedchamber. She was..."

"... the founder of Ravenclaw House. Yes, I know." Langdon opened the heavy oak door and stepped into a magnificent bedchamber, decorated in deep blue and bronze. He noted with satisfaction that walls of the spacious room were covered in bookcases filled with ancient vellum-covered volumes. _Rowena Ravenclaw's own library... What better place to look for clues that can shed some light on the ancient Order of the Black Raven? _

"Was this... where my predecessor stayed? Professor Slughorn?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Langdon behind the half-moon spectacles. "Oh, no. This room is usually unoccupied."

Langdon looked at the headmaster, suddenly suspicious. "Why would such a lovely room be left vacant?"

Dumledore smiled at him. "Excellent question, Professor Langdon. The thing is... I find that there is a great deal of superstition among wizards sometimes. This room is said to be... ah, haunted, I'm afraid. But seeing that Muggles are unable to see ghosts, I thought you might enjoy the comfort of this room, as well as the access to a rather unique book collection. You see, these are not merely Rowena Ravenclaw's own books, but volumes collected by her daughter as well. Ah, I see that your suitcase has already been brought up. Have a very pleasant night, Professor Langdon."

The headmaster vanished with a friendly nod, and Langdon was left by himself in Rowena Ravenclaw's bedchamber. He sank down on the soft fourposter bed and glanced curiously around the ancient room. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and the flickering firelight cast a soft glow over the ancient oak furniture, the ornate desk with its stacks of unused parchment, ink bottles and quills, the antique books... A large casement window opened up out to a starlit night sky, and next to the window...

Langdon froze.

For a moment he imagined her to be real, an ancient ghost suddenly visible to Muggle eyes. _Rowena Ravenclaw... How curiously familiar she looks! _Her eyes staring into his were as dark as night itself, and her raven hair cascaded over her scarlet cloak. A bird with fluttering wings rested on her shoulder, like a dark shadow, and a book was open in her hand. Without reflecting, Langdon read the words, written on the page in an ancient, florid hand: "_Lancea et clavis_."

A portrait. He suddenly realized that he was looking at a portrait. Of course - wizarding portraits moved; Septima had told him so.

_Septima! _He gazed in wonder at the portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw. _I recognize you, dark lady of Ravenclaw... For your face is the face of the woman I loved and lost. Septima..._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

_**In which Professor Langdon teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, names the One Who Must Not Be Named, and discovers that something still lurks in the Chamber of Secrets**_

**...**

"Welcome," said Professor Langdon, "to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

He put his books down on the desk and smiled at the class. Only a few of the students smiled back.

_Gryffindors and Slytherins... Ah, that must be the ill-famed Mr. Malfoy in the back, the handsome blond one orchestrating each movement the Slytherins make. Funny how they all watch his face to see how they should react to me. And now they all assume identical expressions of haughty disdain. He must be from a wealthy family, the young Mr. Malfoy; I have seen that air of entitlement often enough at Harvard. A legacy student_... _I know his kind. Any minute now, he will begin to challenge my authority and tell me about his famous ancestors. Ah, here we go..._

"Excuse me, Professor Langdon," said Draco Malfoy, "but we have a few questions."

The other Slytherins sat up and tried to look as if they had been dying to ask questions too.

Langdon smiled to himself. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

The boy looked at him with cold, grey eyes. "There are a few things that strike me as a little _odd._ I sent an owl to my father last night and told him about you, and he said he had never heard your name before. Apparently, you never went to Hogwarts. And yet here you are, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts... How can that be, _sir_?"

Langdon gazed at him for a long moment. He could sense the students holding their breaths, waiting for his answer.

"I come from an ancient family of pure-blood wizards," continued Draco. _Ah! I knew it! "_And my family sent me to Hogwarts to get my education from qualified teachers. What are your qualifications, Professor?"

The room was dead silent. All eyes were fixed on Langdon.

"My qualifications?" He gazed steadily at the Slytherin boy. "I will show you what my qualifications are, Mr. Malfoy."

He pulled a wand from the pocket of his robes. It was the hawthorn wand from his own collection at home; Septima had suggested that he bring it as a prop.

Langdon pointed his wand at Draco Malfoy's flaxen head. "Now, you have learned about the forbidden curses, haven't you?" he said in a low voice.

There was a sudden flicker of fear in Draco's eyes.

"Professor, you can't..." The whisper came from Hermione.

Langdon held his wand steady and said softly: "_Crucio!_"

Draco's eyes widened in shock, and little gasps were heard around the room. It took a few seconds for the class to register that nothing had happened. Draco was not writhing in pain; he was merely sitting in his seat, frozen in sudden fear.

Langdon chuckled, and Draco looked at him in absolute incomprehension for a moment. Then the cold, haughty expression was back in the boy's eyes, although his voice trembled a little as he whispered: "What the hell was _that-? _The Cruciatus curse didn't work? What kind of wizard _are _you?"

"The answer to that should be obvious, Mr. Malfoy," said Langdon lightly. "I'm a squib." He twirled the hawthorn wand in his hand. "And this, in my hands, is a _stick_."

It took a few moments for Draco to process what Langdon had said, but then a distinctly unpleasant smile spread across his pale face. "A... _squib_? You must be joking. Just _wait_ till my father hears about this! We've had our share of unqualified professors at this school, but a _squib! _And you are supposed to teach us _Defense Against the Dark Arts?_"

"Yes," said Langdon. "I am. In fact, being a squib makes me uniquely qualified to do so."

He could tell that his confidence was beginning to unnerve Draco Malfoy; he saw growing confusion in the boy's glance.

"And... and how the hell is a squib supposed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Draco muttered sullenly, and the boys next to him echoed: "Yeah, how's that going to work?"

"Glad you asked." Langdon smiled pleasantly. The students stared at him, mesmerized. _They are getting interested now..._

Langdon picked up a book from the stack on his desk. "Now, you all have a copy of this book of course. _Confronting the Faceless_ by Quentin Trimble. And this one, _The Dark Arts Outsmarted _by Wilbert Slinkhard_. _And the rest of the books assigned to you by your previous professor."

A few nods around the room.

"Well, let me tell you something: _All these books are completely useless._"

"What?" Hermione looked up at him in apparent shock. Langdon couldn't tell if she was acting or not.

"Why are you saying that, sir?" A pretty Indian girl with a long braid this time. Langdon mentally accessed the class lists he had memorized. This must be Parvati Patil, who had a twin sister in Ravenclaw.

"Because, Miss Patil, there is a fatal flaw in your Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. I am surprised you have never spotted it. When were your books published?"

Parvati looked confused. "My books are brand new this year, sir."

"I can see that, Miss Patil, but your books are reprints of older works, aren't they? When was _Confronting the Faceless _first written?"

A frantic rustling of pages followed.

"It was written in 1938, sir." It was Hermione who answered.

"That's right, Miss Granger. And it hasn't been revised since. Now, what year did Tom Riddle, who was later to become the dread Dark Lord whose name you have been taught not to utter, attend Hogwarts?"

"Er... 1940s?" This was Harry.

Langdon smiled at him. "That is correct, Mr. Potter. And when Tom Riddle attended Hogwarts, which textbook do you think he used for Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"This one-?" A tall black boy looked at Langdon with a distinctly worried expression on his face.

"That's correct, Mr... Thomas, is it? And I have been told that Tom Riddle was a model student. He got _Outstanding_ is all his subjects. _Voldemort knows these books you have in front of you like the palm of his hand, and so do his death eaters. _Not only does the Dark Lord know these books by heart; he has had fifty years to think about ways to counter any defensive magic described in them_._"

A murmur of shock ran through the class. Apparently, this was _not_ something that had occurred to them.

"These books," said Langdon softly, "are completely, utterly worthless."

He went over to the window, opened it, and flung his books out into the golden autumn air. Then he turned to the class again. They were staring at him now, silent and wide-eyed.

"Now, if Voldemort... _yes, Miss Granger, I am going to use his name..._ already knows all the magic traditionally taught at Hogwarts, how can you ever hope to defend yourself against him and his death eaters?" Langdon glanced out over the sea of pale faces. _I have their attention now!_

He smiled at them. "Voldemort knows all the traditional magic taught at Hogwarts, as well as dark magic that you will never be taught here. But what he does _not_ know is the magical tradition that has survived among Muggles, hidden in ancient texts, studied by Muggle scholars who have no idea that the spells they are reading are _real._ I am here to teach you about the magic the wizarding world has forgotten. I am here to teach you spells and magic that the Dark Lord himself does not know. I am here to teach you things that your parents never heard about when _they_ attended Hogwarts, things that even your other professors don't know."

The students gazed at him with wonder. Even the Slytherins were looking at him with something resembling respect now. Draco nodded his head slightly.

"This is a load of _crap_!"

The students turned, aghast, and looked at Harry. He stood up, his black hair in complete disarray, and stared at Langdon.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me, Professor." Harry shot him a hostile glance. "I know that you probably mean well, but this is absurd. We don't need to learn obscure spells from ancient Egypt or something; we need to practice magic with our _wands. _You don't know Voldemort; I do. I have faced him, and I have held my own, with the help of my wand. What all these students need is to practice regular defensive spells, shield charms, patronuses. _Not_ ancient Babylonian gibberish."

"_Harry!" _Hermione poked him sharply in the side.

But Harry went on, fiercely: "I know what it's like to face the Dark Lord. I have had experiences that you have never had, and I'm telling you..."

"You are telling me that you are the Chosen One?"

Harry stared defiantly at him. "Yes, I am, Professor."

Out of the corner of his eye, Langdon noticed Draco Malfoy watching him with a great deal of interest. Langdon leaned closer to Harry.

"I see. Well, let me tell you something right now, Mr. Potter. Out there, outside the classroom, you may very well be the Chosen One. But once you walk through this door, it no longer matters who you are in the world outside. It doesn't matter if you are the Chosen One, the Minister of Magic, or the Dark Lord himself. Once you walk through this door, you are in my classroom. I am your professor, and you are my student. And there is only one rule in this room: You are here to learn what I have to teach you. Is that understood, Mr. Potter?"

Harry glared at him for a moment, then nodded and sank back into his seat.

"Excellent. I am glad we understand each other, Mr. Potter. And if you have any further questions about my teaching methods, you will have an opportunity to ask them during your detention this evening. My office, eight o'clock."

A few snickers from the Slytherins. _Good God, these kids are gullible!_

"And now," said Langdon pleasantly, "let us turn to a little known Demotic spell. _Anach abareir..._"

...

The rest of the school day went quite smoothly. The Demotic spell had turned out to be very real, and fantastic tales of dark shadows appearing out of sunlight and answering questions about the future had soon spread throughout the school. Langdon himself had not been able to see the shades or hear their answers, of course, but judging by the students' stunned expressions as they conjured the shadows, they must have been rather impressive. Draco Malfoy had held the door open for him after class.

And by the time Langdon taught Defense Against the Dark Arts to the sixth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the afternoon, it was clear that he had become a star. He even had to show a few fifth year students who had tried to sneak into the class very sternly to the door and remind them that their class was tomorrow. The sixth years were happy to point out the interlopers to him; they did not want to share the powerful new spells they were about to learn with anyone, least of all fifth years.

The Ravenclaw students appeared to be particularly talented at remembering the complex Demotic spells, while it took the Hufflepuffs a little longer to master the incantations. Two of the Ravenclaw students were quite outstanding: A dark-haired boy named Anthony Goldstein, and Padma Patil, Parvati's twin sister.

"Why have we never been taught any of this before?" gasped Anthony as the lesson was drawing to a close and all shades had been dispelled. "I have never even _heard_ of any of these spells. All the spells we have been taught at Hogwarts are in Latin."

"And bad Latin at that," muttered Padma Patil. She looked almost identical to her pretty sister, but Padma had an air of seriousness about her that the more bubbly Parvati lacked.

Langdon smiled. "True. Most of the spells in your textbooks are in appalling Latin, although I noticed one or two in bad Greek, a few simple ones in English, and of course the Aramaic _Avada kedavra._ Oh, please, Mr. Goldstein, no need to jump like that. I'm a _squib_. Even if I were to say the killing curse a hundred times over, I couldn't harm a soul."

"Sorry, I forgot." A brief smile flitted across Anthony's dark, serious face.

"What about Sanskrit, sir?" asked Padma. "My grandfather always said that Sanskrit was the most powerful language in the world. Could you teach us some Sanskrit spells?"

"Sanskrit spells?" Langdon thought for a moment. "Yes, of course. Let's see now..." _There are some good ones in the Atharvaveda: A Spell To Ensnare a Lover's Heart... No, these kids are sixteen, better not teach them that one. A Spell To Make Your Sweetheart's New Lover Drop Dead... I wonder if that one works for a former sweetheart's ex-husband too? No, mustn't think like that. Ah, here we go: Spell to Repel Poisonous Serpents. That might come in handy for these kids. May work on basilisks, too, for all I know._

_..._

Harry reported for detention at eight o'clock sharp, a big grin on his face.

"That was _excellent, _Professor. "Once you walk through this door, it no longer matters who you are..." That was a good one."

"Thank you, Harry." Langdon grinned back. "I have used a version of that little speech frequently at Harvard over the years. The Rockefeller kids, you know. Works like, er, magic. I have to say I found your little performance quite convincing as well. The Chosen One, are you?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I probably am, actually. There is this prophecy, you see, about me and Voldemort, about one of us killing the other in the end."

Langdon's smile faded. "Yes, Septima mentioned that. That's quite a lot of pressure for a sixteen year old boy to handle, Harry."

Harry frowned. "A bit, yes, but I'm used to it."

"I'm sure you are, Harry." Langdon looked at him curiously. "Now, Harry, I've been thinking: Do you think there is any chance that Voldemort himself could be behind the murder of the three unfortunate girls?"

"Voldemort?" Harry considered the suggestion, but only briefly. "No, he can't be. I would have known it if he was. I have this... this mental connection of sorts to Voldemort, you see. I can feel what he is feeling, sense when he is happy or upset, see some of the images that go through his mind... I am sure I would have known if he had committed three gruesome murders here at Hogwarts. I would have felt it."

"You can read Voldermort's mind?" Langdon looked at the emerald-eyed boy with interest.

Harry nodded. "I don't mention it to people a lot, though. Makes them freak out."

Langdon smiled at him. "Yes, I can see how it would. Do a lot of wizards have telepathic abilities?"

"Don't think so. I can't read anyone else's mind, though, just _his, _and only when he's experiencing strong emotions. I'm not a legilimens like Snape."

_Uh-oh. _

Langdon cleared his throat. "Er... Professor Snape can read minds? Thanks for telling me, Harry. I'll watch out for that."

Harry laughed. "Good idea, Professor. He probably doesn't want to read your thoughts about Professor Vector."

"What?" Langdon felt himself blush. "I thought you said you didn't read minds, Harry? How do you know...?"

"About you and Professor Vector? Oh, everyone knows about that."

"They do?" Langdon groaned. "No wonder her ex-husband can't stand the sight of me."

"Her what?" A look of comprehension dawned in the Harry's green eyes. "No _way! Snape _was married? To Professor Vector?" He looked appalled at the thought.

Langdon decided to change the subject. "Now, Harry, what can you tell me about the three Ravenclaw girls? Were you able to find out more about them?"

"A bit, yes." Harry pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Hermione wrote it all down, of course. Here, you can read through it all later; she wrote rather a lot. We didn't know the three girls all that well, since they were in Ravenclaw. But Hermione was able to find out quite a bit."

Robert Langdon scanned the parchment Harry gave him quickly. Morag and Mandy had been the rebellious sort, while Sally-Anne had been more quiet and shy. Morag and Mandy had been best friends since their first year, but Sally-Anne, who used to be Padma's friend, had recently begun to spend more time with the other two girls. Mandy had been dating Anthony Goldstein for a few months, while it was widely known that Morag had a crush on Draco Malfoy. Sally-Anne, the third girl, did not appear to have been involved with anyone. Morag had been a pure-blood, and the other two girls were half-bloods. None of the girls had any siblings at Hogwarts.

_Why these three? _Langdon recalled the photograph he had seen of the three girls, taken after their deaths_. Three girls: The flame-haired Morag, the golden-haired Mandy, and the dark Sally-Anne. __Three daughters of the House of Ravenclaw._

"Were they well liked, these three girls? Were they good students?"

Harry shrugged. "Morag and Mandy were quite popular, and Sally-Anne was well liked, too, although she was more timid than the other two. And yes, they were all good students. Not as good as Hermione of course, but they spent an awful lot of time in the library. Hermione said she saw them in the restricted section a lot."

"The restricted section?"

"That's where the books on dark magic and things like that are kept. Students can only go there if they have a permission slip from a teacher. Professors can of course go there any time they want."

"Really?" Langdon got up. "In that case, I think I will visit the restricted section this evening. Your detention is officially over, Mr. Potter."

...

Langdon wove his way through the ancient labyrinthine corridors towards the library. Without the map of Hogwarts imprinted on his photographic memory, he would have become hopelessly lost already. How on earth did first year students ever figure out how to get to their classrooms in this school?

The corridors were empty at this hour; the students must all be in their common rooms.

Something moved, softly, in the shadows, but before Langdon had time to turn around, a voice whispered: "_Imperio!"_

An odd sensation rushed through Langdon, a pleasurable sense of something sweet and enchanted, of meaning and destiny. The restricted section? Why would he want to go to the restricted section? The idea suddenly struck him as absurd. What he had to do, what he suddenly desperately desired to do, was to write a note to Septima. Of course. Why hadn't he realized how vitally important it was to write a note _right away? _There was a piece of parchment lying in the corridor, right there, and a quill as well. Someone must have dropped them there. How very fortunate! Langdon reached for the fluttering parchment and began to write. To his surprise, his hand seemed to move on its own accord; the dark letters spilled from his pen onto the thick parchment. His thoughts seemed to write themselves. _Or were they his thoughts?_ A slight doubt whispered in the back of his mind, but it was soon lost in the strange, dark joy he felt at doing what he was meant to do_. _

_Dearest Septima, _he wrote.

_By the time you read this letter, I will have left Hogwarts. I apologize for leaving so suddenly. I know I am letting you all down, but it is simply too painful for me to see you again when there is no hope that you can return my feelings. I should never have come here. Please give my apologies to Dumbledore; I am sure he will be able to replace me with someone better suited for the job. Please do not contact me again - I just can't bear it._

_Yours always,_

_Robert_

He read the note over with an odd sense of satisfaction. _Inevitable. It was inevitable that it had to end like this... _He wondered slightly, for a fraction of a second, _why _exactly fate had decreed that he should write such a strange little letter, but something dark and powerful in his mind pushed the thought aside.

He walked to the arithmancy classroom and left the note there. Septima would find it in the morning. Something tugged strangely at his heart as he left the rolled up parchment on her desk, but he knew that he had important things to do; he couldn't linger.

Langdon walked without hesitation to the second floor corridor. He had an odd sense that someone was following him, but he didn't want to look back; he was filled with an overwhelming desire to explore the room down the hall.

A bathroom. Ah, yes, this was the place. This is where he was meant to be. The white marble gleamed in the moonlight, and the faucets glittered like silver. _A bathroom. _Something stirred in the back of his mind. Hadn't he heard a story somewhere, about a bathroom? A bathroom on the second floor? He couldn't remember.

He heard a slight rustle behind him, and a soft hissing sound. And suddenly, the white marble moved, and a passageway opened before him. _Of course. A passageway through the pipe. I was meant to enter this passage. _

He stepped carefully into the pipe and walked into the chamber that lay beyond it. _An enchanted chamber! How beautiful it is, with the flickering torches casting their soft glow over the ancient stone walls..._

The door to the passageway slammed shut behind him, and all at once Langdon felt as if he had just woken up from a dream. _What the hell just happened? Where am I? _

His heart sank as he realized precisely where he was: _The Chamber of Secrets. _

_This is where Harry encountered the memory of Tom Riddle before he was attacked by the basilisk. _

Langdon tried the door, but it was sealed shut. _Oh, great. I'm trapped in the Chamber of Secrets, and not a soul knows I'm here. My skeleton will lie in the chamber forever... At least Harry killed the basilisk. _

His glance fell on a tattered open book on the floor. A massive fang had been thrust through it, and it lay ruined now, still in a dark pool of ink and glittering venom. Tom Riddle's diary...

_What was that? _

Langdon's heart beat faster. Something stirred, a viridian gleam in the shadows. _The basilisk? No, it can't be - the basilisk is long dead..._

_But if the basilisk is dead - what is _that?

A monstrous creature crawled slowly out of the darkness into the flickering torchlight. Its green skin glittered oddly, as of jewels, and it stared at him with luminous yellow eyes.

Langdon stared in terror at the uncanny thing that lurked towards him. Something immense and reptilian, yes, but this was no basilisk. It was a crocodile, of colossal proportions, its gleaming emerald skin encrusted with brilliant jewels, and its snapping teeth as sharp as razor blades.

_Not a basilisk, but a petsuchos. The ancient monster of Egyptians legends, the monster sacred to the dread Sobek._

Langdon staggered backwards, away from the snapping jaws, but the monster kept coming closer, closer...

He looked around desperately for something, anything, that he could use to fight the loathsome thing off. Something white gleamed in the shadows, and he reached for it. Basilisk fangs! Langdon grasped one of the immense fangs like a sword and readied himself for the coming attack. The monster drew slowly and mercilessly closer, a cruel glint in its eyes...

Langdon thrust at the head of the petsuchos with all his might. The creature paused for a fraction of a second, as if in mild surprise. But to his horror, Langdon saw that the basilisk fang had snapped in two when it stabbed the jeweled reptilian skin.

_Poison! _he thought. Even if the fang can't penetrate its skin, surely the basilisk venom will affect the beast -

But the petsuchos kept coming closer, its hideous jaws curled in a terrible parody of a smile.

_No! Even the basilisk venom can't penetrate its skin._

Langdon leaped wildly aside as the gigantic jaws snapped at him. _I can avoid it for a while, but eventually I will tire. It is only a matter of time before I am caught between those horrifying jaws..._He looked around desperately for a better weapon, but he saw nothing.

He cried out in terror, but he knew in his heart that no one could hear him.

_It will take more than magic to save me now..._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: **_

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing! For those who have been wondering: Yes, all the spells and curses Langdon mentions in this fic are real; they are taken from actual ancient texts. Don't try them at home.**_

_**My muse had a lot of egg nog this week. I assume no responsibility for the results.**_

...

_**~Chapter Four~**_

_**In which Langdon demonstrates some Muggle magic, writes a message in Middle Egyptian, and hears a strange prophecy.**_

_**...**_

"Where is Robert Langdon?" Septima Vector looked around the cheerful teachers' lounge with a frown. Over by the crackling fire, Dumbledore was watching Charity Burbage and Bathsheba Babbling play dragon snap, while Filius Flitwich was reading the joke section of _Witch's Weekly _aloud to a small group of teachers who were giggling and sipping Irish Fire Coffee.

Minerva McGonagall, who had been lounging in front of the wireless and listening to the captain of the Holyhead Harpies analyze the impact the new and faster Firebolt X was going to have on the Quidditch season, looked up in surprise.

"That's right, he's not here, is he? I hope he didn't get lost in the corridors. So many people do in the beginning. I'll go look for him if you want."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him." Over in the corner, Snape looked lazily up from his book. "I heard he was giving Harry Potter detention tonight."

"I know, but that was at eight o'clock. It's almost eleven now." Septima got up. "And Robert wouldn't get lost. He's got a very good memory for maps."

Snape put down _The Mysteries of Udolpho _and rose to his feet. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Septima. But if you like, I'll help you look. Let's ask the ghosts; they may have seen where he went." He put his arm comfortingly around Septima's shoulder.

...

When they returned half an hour later, Septima was pale. She flung herself down in one of the plump armchairs and refused to look up.

"What's the matter?" Dumbledore hastened over to her. "What happened, Septima? Where is Langdon?"

Without a word, Septima handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment. Dumbledore read it in silence. All the other teachers were watching him now.

"Where did you find this?" asked Dumbledore sharply.

It was Snape who answered. "The arithmancy classroom. He must have left it there for Septima to find. It seems that Langdon has already left the castle; the ghosts haven't seen him for hours. I am so very sorry, Septima."

"It doesn't matter." Septima stared past him.

"Are you sure this is his handwriting?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle now.

"Positive."

"I see." Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "How very unexpected. Well, I suppose there is no accounting for the the human heart, is there?"

...

Langdon stared, mesmerized, at the huge snapping jaws of the monstrous crocodile_. The pressure of a crocodile's bite is 5000 pounds per square inch. _The thought flashed into his head, uninvited. A trembling sigh escaped him. _I wish I didn't know that. Sometimes having a photographic memory is a really, really bad thing. This monster will chomp me to death with a single bite. _

He inched backwards, his heart hammering in his chest. _Come on, think! Surely I must have read something, somewhere, about how to kill a forty foot crocodile with only my bare hands, a non-functional magic wand, and the diary of a juvenile delinquent._

He stared at the grotesque beast._ It must have a weak spot somewhere. But what_? _Its skin is impossible to penetrate, its teeth are sharper than daggers, and its jaws are stronger than those of any beast alive._

Wait...

_I have read something else about the jaws of crocodiles..._ _Ah. Yes. That's it! _

With trembling hands, Langdon reached under his robes and pulled his belt off. He rapidly fashioned the belt into a noose and stepped towards the petsuchos. Its yellow eyes glittered with malice, and a ferocious growl sprang from its throat as it lunged at him, snapping its terrifying jaws.

It missed. Langdon leaped aside at the last minute, just as the enormous jaws snapped together. Quick as lightning, he slipped his belt around the monster's closed jaws, pulled the belt tight and buckled it.

The petsuchos let out a horrendous snarl and began to thrash wildly. Langdon stepped back and watched its futile struggle. Try as it might, the beast could not open its jaws.

_The muscles a crocodile uses for closing its jaws are immensely strong. But the muscles it uses to _open _its jaws are surprisingly weak, weak enough that a man can keep the jaws of a crocodile firmly closed with his bare hands. Or his belt. _

Finally, the monster gave up and acquiesced to lying still on the damp floor of the chamber and glaring viciously at him. "Not used to Muggle magic, are you?" said Langdon cheerfully and turned toward the doorway. _Time to get out of here!_

This proved to be something of a problem, however. The heavy stone door did not budge. How was he going to get out? Calling for help was obviously pointless; if nobody had heard the ferocious roar of the petsuchos, it was pretty clear that the chamber was soundproof. And wasn't it unplottable as well? Langdon checked his mental map of Hogwarts - no, no Chamber of Secrets. _Great. I'm trapped in a locked, soundproof, unplottable underground chamber. How will anyone find me here? Surely, they'll think to look for me down here once they've checked everywhere else?_

Then he recalled the note he had written to Septima. _Uh oh. _

_I must have been under some strange enchantment - the Imperius Curse? Oh, damn. __No one will look for me, will they?_

He tried the door again. No, it was impossible to open the door by force. Hadn't Septima told him that Harry had once opened the Chamber by speaking in Parseltongue? Parseltongue! He remembered the hissing sound someone had made behind him when the doorway had opened in the bathroom. _The shadowy person who cast the Imperius curse on me opened the doorway by speaking Parseltongue. _

Langdon stared at the ancient stone door before him. Could he replicate the hissing sound he had heard? Of course he could; he had a very good memory and an excellent ear for languages.

He cleared his throat and spoke to the door:

"_SssssssSSSSssssSSssss."_

The door did not move.

Perhaps the accent was wrong? He tried again: "_SSSSSSSssssSSSSssSSSS."_

No difference. He tried again and again, although he was quite certain that he actually had it right the first time. Why wouldn't the door open?

He sighed. Perhaps it wasn't enough to speak Parseltongue; perhaps it only worked if you had magical abilities as well?

He pulled the hawthorn wand out of his pocket and tried a few spells, just in case: "_Alohomora? Expecto patronum? Avis? Scourgify? SssssssSSSSssssSSssss?"_

Nothing.

Well, if he couldn't get out, was there a way he could send a message to let someone know that he was here? He reached into his pocket and smiled when he found that his cell phone was still there. He had meant to leave it at home since it wouldn't work at Hogwarts, but some habits are too hard to break; without realizing it, he had automatically slipped the phone into his pants pocket when heading out the door at home.

He turned the phone on. Yes, it had some residual charge left, but there was no signal. _Who would I call anyway? 911? No, that would be 999 in Scotland, wouldn't it? _Of course there is no signal. Magic in the air or not, I'm deep underneath a vast stone building.

No. No phone calls. No shouting at the top of his lungs, no hammering on the door. How else could he communicate with the outside world? By telepathy?

_Snape is a legilimens. Perhaps I can try to send him a telepathic message? _

It was worth a shot. For over an hour, Langdon concentrated as hard as he could on Snape and on the message: "Help! I'm trapped in the Chamber of Secrets", but finally he gave up. Perhaps mind-reading required closer proximity. Or perhaps Snape didn't care if he was trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. Either way, it was evident that nothing was going to happen.

_Is there no other legilimens in this school?_

_Harry Potter! He's apparently got some psychic abilities. But he is not a legilimens, is he? No, he can only read Voldemort's mind, and only if the Dark Lord is experiencing a strong emotion, like joy or anger._

Langdon glanced around the chamber. _Now, if only I could find a way to piss off the Dark Lord..._

_..._

"Sir Nicholas? What is wrong?" Dumbledore stared at the shimmering, insubstantial form of the agitated Gryffindor house ghost.

"It's Harry Potter, headmaster," whispered the spectral nobleman. "He asked me to come and find you. It's terribly urgent. Something very, very strange is happening, Professor Dumbledore."

The headmaster hurried after the ghost. Septima Vector, Snape, and McGonagall followed Dumbledore down to the dimly lit corridor below where Harry was waiting.

Harry looked pale and ill in the flickering torchlight. He was clutching his forehead, and green eyes glittered strangely.

Dumbledore grasped his shoulders. "Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry gazed up at him, an odd expression in his emerald eyes, something halfway between excruciating pain and... laughter?

"It's... It's Voldemort, Professor. My scar feels like it's on fire. I can sense his thoughts; Voldemort is beside himself with anger."

"The Dark Lord is angry?" Dumbledore studied Harry's haggard face intently. "Why, Harry? Can you sense _why_? What has happened to draw his ire?"

"It's..." Harry hesitated for a moment. "Er... What does _kheruwi _mean in Middle Egyptian?"

Dumbledore's gentle blue eyes widened in shock. "What?"

"Mr. Potter!" said Snape softly. "I will beg you to remember that there are ladies present."

"Oh." Harry blushed, hard. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean... It's just that... well, Voldemort appears to be livid because he can sense that someone's been writing in his diary, really insulting things in Egyptian..."

"Someone's been writing in his _diary_?" Dumbledore stared at him. "You mean Tom Riddle's diary? The one you destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. What does _hes-tep_ mean?"

"_Never you mind what that means, Mr. Potter_," snapped McGonagall. She was a great deal paler than usual. "Merlin's beard! I cannot imagine that _anyone _would have the gall to call the Dark Lord a..." Her voice trailed off.

"Robert!" Septima Vector whispered the name softly. She turned to Dumbledore. "Where is the diary now, headmaster?"

"The diary?" Dumbledore frowned slightly. "The diary is merely an empty shell at this point, Septima. When Harry stabbed it with the basilisk fang, he expelled the dark magic that dwelled within its pages."

"Sometimes in the Muggle world," said Septima quietly, "a tiny bit of residual charge lingers in an electric device even after it's disconnected from its power supply. Could that be possible of dark magical objects as well? Could a small spark of residual magic linger in the diary?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed behind his half-moon spectacles. He said in a low voice: "Minerva, what did we do with the diary?"

McGonagall stared at him with a growing look of horror on her face. "The diary? I put it back down in the Chamber of Secrets before we closed it up again for good. I didn't want anyone to find that damn thing ever again. I actually stabbed it with a basilisk fang again, too, just to be on the safe side."

"It's in the Chamber of Secrets?" Septima Vector's voice was barely audible. "Then someone must be down there, someone who would not hesitate to call the Dark Lord himself foul names in Middle Egyptian..."

The four teachers looked at each other.

"Come on, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "I think we are in need of a Parselmouth."

...

They found Langdon in the Chamber of Secrets. He sitting on the floor of the musty underground chamber, still writing away in the ragged old diary, with his back propped against what appeared to be a sleeping primordial chaos creature.

"Merlin's beard!" whispered Dumbledore.

"Robert!" Septima Vector flung her arms around Langdon. "You are still at Hogwarts, after all! How on earth did you end up down here? And.. er, what the hell is _that?_" She glanced at the dozing petsuchos with a shudder.

"A petsuchos," said Robert Langdon lightly. "An ancient monster from Egyptian legend. Apparently quite real."

McGonangall stared at the monster, aghast. "But how did it get down here? The chamber was empty when we closed it up again after the basilisk incident."

"Ah." Langdon got to his feet. "I suspect that whoever led me down here and opened the chamber was responsible for putting the petsuchos here as well. Listen, Septima, about that note - I think I was under the Imperius curse when I wrote that. I had no intention of leaving Hogwarts, and I would certainly not leave without saying a proper goodbye."

"Oh." She swallowed. "I thought for a moment... No, of course you couldn't have written that if you had been yourself, Robert. I should have known - " Her hand touched his cheek lightly.

"Pardon me," interrupted Snape irritably. "This is all very touching, I'm sure, but I have a few questions. To begin with, what happened to the petsuchos? It appears to have been vanquished with a ..._belt_?"

Langdon nodded. "Yes. Old Muggle trick."

"I see." Snape was silent for a moment, and it didn't take a legilimens to sense that he did not care much for Muggle magic. "Now, you say that someone led you down here while you were under the Imperius curse. Did you see who it was?"

Langdon shook his head slowly. "No, I'm afraid not. I couldn't even tell from the voice whether the person was male or female. All the person uttered was a phrase in Parseltongue that opened the entrance to the chamber."

"The person spoke in _Parseltongue_?" Dumbledore looked worried now. "Well, that certainly narrows it down..."

"...to Mr. Potter and the Dark Lord himself." Snape finished the sentence for him.

"Wait a minute!" Harry turned to Snape in indignation: "You actually believe that _I_ had something to do with this?"

Snape regarded him thoughtfully. "Rumor has it that you and Professor Langdon already had a bit of a falling out, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Snape," snapped Langdon. "You don't have to be born a Parselmouth to speak a phrase in Parseltongue. Seriously. _SssssssSSSSssssSSssss."_

Harry jumped. He stared at Langdon, wide-eyed: "_You_ speak Parseltongue?"

"No, Harry, I don't. I am merely repeating from memory the exact phrase I heard the person behind me utter a few hours ago. I tried to use it to get out, but it didn't work. But I daresay that if a person with magical abilities had memorized that phrase, they would be able to open the door."

They all looked at each other.

"In other words, _anybody_ in this school could have opened the Chamber if Secrets," sighed McGonagall.

...

McGonagall and Dumbledore went off to find Hagrid; something had to be done about the petsuchos. Snape mumbled something sarcastic under his breath about the colonial agenda of white men subjugating Egyptian wildlife, but nobody was really listening, so he walked off, muttering darkly.

"Sorry about that, Harry," said Langdon softly, as he headed up the stairs with Harry and Septima. "I know that the Dark Lord's anger must have caused you pain, but I couldn't think of any other way to get someone's attention."

"Oh, that's all right." Harry grinned. "My scar hurt a bit, yes, but for once, I sort of enjoyed sensing Voldemort's thoughts. Boy, was he mad!" He looked hopefully at Langdon. "Could you please tell me what those words mean, Professor? The Egyptian ones you used?"

"Tell you? No, I'm afraid I can't do that, Harry. But I'd be willing to teach you hieroglyphs - you are a clever young man, so that should only take a year or so - and lend you my Dictionary of Middle Egyptian, and then you can look the words up for yourself."

Harry shook his head doubtfully. "That sounds like a lot of work, Professor."

Langdon smiled. "It's the Muggle way, Harry."

Somewhere nearby, footsteps echoed along a forlorn corridor. Who could be out walking the halls of the castle at this hour? A streak of silver moonlight fell through one of the tall arched windows and revealed a slight figure with unruly hair, face white in the light of the moon. Langdon drew his breath sharply.

"Hello, Hermione," said Septima. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour?"

_Hermione. Of course it's just Hermione. Why am I so jumpy? This place is starting to get to me. _

"There you all are!" Hermione sounded relieved. "Harry, you never came back to the Gryffindor common room, so I thought I'd better look for you. Is your scar still hurting? Did you tell Dumbledore about it?"

"Ah, yes. The scar. I'm afraid that was my fault." Langdon smiled ruefully, and Harry filled Hermione in on the night's events. Hermione glanced at Langdon with a tiny smile of approval. She did not, he noticed, ask what the Middle Egyptian words meant. _Exactly how much Middle Egyptian do you know, Miss Granger?_

Suddenly, a shimmering white-clad figure appeared at the top of the staircase in front of them. For a wild moment, Langdon wondered if he _did _have the ability to see ghosts after all, but then he realized that the odd figure was human, albeit a terribly strange human. It was a thin little wisp of a woman; she was wearing a ruffled white nightdress of sorts, but she was wearing so many glittering glass beads around her neck and in her hair that she seemed to be shrouded in an unearthly glow. Her eyes, curiously dead and unseeing, were unnaturally large begind her thick glasses.

"Oh, good evening, Sybill," said Septima pleasantly.

The eerie figure did not respond; she merely swayed back and forth for a moment at the top of the staircase. Suddenly, she pointed at Langdon: "**_Beware! The Order of the Black Raven has risen again, and innocent blood shall be spilled anew. __Even the Dark Lord cowers before the Master of Magic, the true Heir of the House of Ravenclaw, who holds the Spear of Destiny!" _**Her voice was strangely strong and resonant, and Langdon couldn't help feeling slightly awed.

Septima sighed. "Robert," she said in a resigned sort of voice. "This is Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher. Sybill, this is Robert Langdon, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

For a moment, Sybill Trelawney blinked in confusion. Then she suddenly seemed to come to her senses again. She glanced curiously at Langdon, her eyes focused now. "The new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher?" she whispered. "Oh, you brave, brave man. A pleasure to meet you. Now, why are we all out of bed at this hour? How very odd. I must get back to my tower."

She left the others standing in the staircase, staring at each other in wonder.

"Another prophecy?" Harry sounded slightly doubtful. "About the Heir of Ravenclaw? Who on earth is that?"

Hermione's eyes were dark in her pale face. "I think that _was _a real prophecy. I mean, Professor Trelawney spouts nonsense most of the time - I beg your pardon, Professor Vector, but she _does - _but her prophecies have been very accurate in the past, haven't they?"

Harry and Septima Vector nodded silently.

"The Spear of Destiny is in the hands of the Heir of the House of Ravenclaw..." whispered Hermione. "Perhaps the prophecy has something to do with the Order of the Black Raven and with... with the murders..."

"Apparently, the Heir of Ravenclaw, the master of magic, is someone that Voldemort himself fears." said Langdon softly. "Interesting. So, who is this mysterious Heir of Ravenclaw?"

"There are no known descendants of Ravenclaw," said Septima in a low voice. "Her blood line is believed to have died out. But perhaps there is still a true Ravenclaw among us, a secret heir..." Her black hair glittered in the moonlight, and for an odd moment, Langdon felt his breath catch in his chest.

"The Heir of Ravenclaw could be anyone," said Harry quietly. "Perhaps somone in Ravenclaw House... Or perhaps someone else altogether. Members of the same family are usually sorted into the same house, but there are exceptions. For centuries, the Blacks have been sorted into Slytherin, but Sirius Black was in Gryffindor. Paravati and Padma Patil are in different houses as well. The Heir of Ravenclaw _could_ very well be someone from Ravenclaw House, or it could be someone from a different house."

"Someone who's as clever as a Ravenclaw, or as cunning," whispered Septima. Her glance lingered for a moment, almost imperceptibly, on Hermione.

"We need to search through the historical records," said Hermione, with sudden determination in her voice. "There must be something, somewhere, about the bloodline of Rowena Ravenclaw. Perhaps there is something in some of the volumes in the restricted section. We just need to sift through all the records..."

"Perhaps there is a simpler way of doing things," said Robert Langdon abruptly. "Sifting through centuries of historical documents will take time, and we need to find this person as soon as possible, before someone else gets hurt." He turned to Septima. "Septima, where is Rowena Ravenclaw buried? I didn't see anything about that in _Hogwarts: A History._"

"What?" Septima's dark glance met his. "What a curious question, Robert! I don't see what bearing that can have on anything. But as far as I know, Rowena Ravenclaw is buried in an ancient crypt, deep underneath Hogwarts, along with the three other founders. The crypt is not on the map, of course, since it's..."

"Unplottable. Yes, of course." Langdon was beginning to wonder why anyone would even bother with a map of the castle at all, since so much of it appeared to belong to the realm of the unknowable. "Do you happen to know where the crypt is?"

Septima nodded. "Yes, I think I can find it. Robert, what are you going to do there?" She looked distinctly ill at ease.

"If we want to find out who the Heir of Ravenclaw is, who better to give us that information than Rowena Ravenclaw herself?"

His words were greeted with a moment's stunned silence.

"Professor Langdon? What are you suggesting? Some kind of... er... Muggle necromancy?" Harry looked at him in wonder.

Langdon smiled. "I suppose you can call it that. I'm going into Rowena Ravenclaw's grave chamber to get a DNA sample."


	5. Chapter 5

_**~Chapter Five~**_

_**In which Professor Langdon has a vision of a Sleeping Beauty, discovers someone missing, and finds a plum cake.**_

_**...**_

It was almost an hour past midnight when the four of them set out in search of the crypt that housed the mortal remains of the four founders of Hogwarts. Septima, Harry, and Hermione had their wands out, while Langdon had armed himself with a flashlight and a few small glass vials for samples. At Langdon's insistence, they all wore gloves so they wouldn't contaminate any DNA samples.

"We have to enter through the Headmaster's office," whispered Septima. "The entrance is behind one of the portraits. Unfortunately, I don't know the password to Dumbledore's office."

"Oh, that shouldn't be too hard to figure out." Hermione glanced at Harry. "Harry, what sort of candy is Dumbledore eating these days?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Let's see... Earlier this evening, I smelled something sweet and tangy on his breath. Acid pops?"

And the phrase "acid pops" did indeed turn out to have the desired effect; the heavy oak door to Dumbledore's office swung open before them and revealed the dimly lit room within.

"Why doesn't Dumbledore make his passwords harder, I wonder?" Langdon glanced curiously around the circular book-lined office. Strange silver instruments gleamed in the moonlight that slanted through the tall arched windows, and he could make out the outline of a massive desk covered in books, with a golden birdcage perched precariously on top of one of the wobbly book piles.

"His passwords are easy to crack if you are a student, but impossible for dark wizards to guess," whispered Harry. "Hello, Fawkes."

Something stirred in the birdcage and emitted a sleepy little sound.

_"Lumos!" _

Langdon felt Septima make a little movement by his side, and soft golden light streamed from her wand. She swept the light along the walls of the office, and a series of dark portraits were illuminated in turn.

The solemn men and women in the portraits were dozing, but a few of them stirred when the wand light brushed over their canvas, and they muttered a few unpleasant things under their breaths.

The light from Septima's wand paused when it reached the portrait of a dark-haired wizard with fine features, a pointed black beard, exquisite green and silver robes and an expression of haughty disdain in his dark eyes.

"I think this was the portrait," she whispered.

Langdon squinted to make out the inscription on the antique frame: Phineas Nigellus Black. _What an odd name! The Biblical Phineas was a high priest who murdered an interracial couple, wasn't he? But his name is Egyptian: Pa-Nehasy, the Black Man. Both "Phineas" and "Nigellus" mean "black"; the first in Egyptian, and the second in Latin. This gentleman must be a thrice Black wizard._

"May I ask what are you doing in the headmaster's office at this hour? Where is Dumbledore? And who is this... mudblood?" The portrait glared at Langdon.

"A great wizard," said Septima coldly. "And this, Professor Langdon, is Phineas Nigellus Black, former head of Slytherin House and erstwhile headmaster of Hogwarts."

"How do you do?" said Langdon pleasantly. The portrait did not answer him, but turned its hostile glance to Harry and Hermione. "Students? Out of bed? Oho, I recognize that one! Harry Potter! He is always roaming around the castle at night, isn't he? Dumbledore is far too lax with these students. Why, in my day..."

He was interrupted by Septima: "We need to enter the passage, Phineas."

"The passage? So you know about the passage, do you? And do you know the password, pretty lady?" There was grudging admiration in the former headmaster's glance as it fell on Septima.

"Yes, of course. _Memento mori._"

"All right, then." The portrait swung aside with a sigh, revealing a dark passage in the wall. "Enter at your own risk."

They stepped through the portrait hole into a narrow stone corridor. It smelled ancient and musty. Harry and Hermione lit their wands as well, and Langdon switched his flashlight on. He could see a crumbling stone staircase winding down into darkness at the end of the corridor. They stepped carefully towards it.

"How do you know about this passage, Professor Vector?" asked Hermione. Her voice echoed eerily against the heavy stone walls. "There is no mention of this passage or the crypt in any of the books on the history of Hogwarts that I have come across."

Septima was silent for a moment before she responded: "Professor Snape showed me the crypt, Hermione. A long time ago, when I first arrived at Hogwarts. Professor Snape knows a great deal about this place, you see, more than you would ever find in a book."

_Perhaps a tour of the crypt was Snape's idea of a date night," _mused Langdon to himself. _No wonder their marriage didn't last. _Pleasant memories of Septima and himself dining in romantic Italian restaurants by candlelight flooded into his mind. _She must have enjoyed the years we were together a whole lot more._

The staircase wound down, endlessly, around a massive stone pillar carved with cinquefoils and roses. The air was still and dead and stale down here, as if it had been unbreathed by the living for hundreds of years. Finally, they reached the bottom of the steps. Through an arched doorway, Langdon could make out a dark, vaulted chamber. The arch itself was adorned with more cinquefoils. _How odd that the crypt that holds the remains of the four founders is marked by a cinquefoil, a stylized five-petaled flower! Why not use the four-petaled quatrefoil instead, to symbolize each of the four founders?_

"Watch out!" Septima's voice was suddenly hoarse. _Watch out for what? _Langdon felt a slight draft as he walked through the archway. He shone his flashlight around the chamber. White marble walls gleamed in the soft beam from his flashlight. Four white marble coffins, adorned with glittering jewels on the lids, stood in the middle of the crypt.

Behind him, Hermione screamed. Langdon spun around. Hermione was staring, transfixed, at something near the arch. Harry muttered: "Oh, my God!" and staggered backwards. Behind them, Langdon could see Septima's face, deathly pale.

"What?"

"Specters," whispered Septima. "Rather gruesome ones at that. These are _not_ your ordinary Hogwarts house ghosts. Oh, Robert, don't tell me that you can't see _that..._"

"See what?"

Langdon dragged the white-faced students through the archway, and Septima followed quickly with a shudder.

"The specters were _not_ here the last time," she muttered. "Oh, good, they fade once we are on the inside the arch. I suppose they are here to protect the crypt from invaders. You really are remarkably non-psychic, even for a Muggle, Robert." She slipped her hand into his.

"Comes in handy when facing specters, doesn't it?"

Langdon shone his flashlight on each of the four coffins in turn. One gleamed with rubies, one with emeralds, one with citrine, and one with sapphires. _These must be the coffins of Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw._

He felt along the lid of the sapphire-studded coffin. There was an inscription on the lid, in faded golden letters. "What's this?"

"An inscription?" Hermione leaned eagerly over the coffin and traced the gold letters with her finger. "_Clavus corvi..."_

"The claw..." whispered Septima.

"...of the raven." Langdon finshed the sentence for her. "Ravenclaw!"

But Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so, Professor!" She blushed a little as Langdon stared at her in surprise. "That wouldn't be correct Latin, would it? _Clavus_ is a nail, not a claw. The Latin word for "claw" should be _unguis._"

Langdon did not often feel stupid, but now he did. _Why wasn't this girl sorted into Ravenclaw? _"Of course! You are absolutely right, Hermione. I was thinking of Rowena Raveclaw and translated accordingly without thinking. _Clavus corvi. _The Nail of the Raven. Or perhaps... perhaps the Clave of the Raven? As in "The Secret Society of the Raven"?"

"The Order of the Black Raven!" whispered Harry. "But I thought the order was founded later? Did it exist back when Rowena Ravenclaw was buried?"

"Not as far as I know. How very odd!" Septima shook her head, perplexed.

Langdon grasped the edge of the lid. It was heavy, but it should not be impossible to move. _Unless it's magically sealed, of course. _"Shall we?"

The four of them took hold of the corners of the coffin lid and lifted. It heavy, but it was coming off!

"Put it down here, on the ground," panted Langdon.

They placed the lid gingerly on the floor of the chamber and peered into the coffin.

_What?_

For a moment, Langdon stood frozen, staring at the body in the coffin.

_Perhaps this is how fairy tales begin. Perhaps a man walked into this chamber, long ago, and lifted the lid and found her lying here like this, so beautiful that he knew that he would never forget her face for as long as he lived. And when he saw that enchanted flush upon her pale cheeks and the luster of her raven hair, he refused to believe that she was dead; he told himself that she was only sleeping, and that a kiss would call her back to life. Snow White. Sleeping Beauty. Rowena. I wonder what would happen if I kissed her..._

"Are you sure... Are you sure she is really dead?" Harry's voice faltered by his side.

After a moment's hesitation, Langdon took one of his gloves off and reached out and touched Rowena Ravenclaw's ivory hand. It was cold as ice, and there was no pulse at her wrist. A jeweled ring glittered on her finger: an emerald. _No sapphire on your finger, lovely lady?_

"Yes, Harry," said Langdon, trying to keep his voice steady. "She is dead, as she has been for the past thousand years, although she is remarkably unchanged. There is no sign of decay."

"Magic," whispered Septima. "Her descendants must have wished to preserve her body after her death. It can be done, although most people would choose not to." She reached into the coffin and stroked a lock of Rowena Ravenclaw's black hair with a trembling hand. "Her hair is just like mine, and her face not so different either..."

"Perhaps you are related," said Langdon softly. "We will soon find out." He pulled out a few strands of Ravenclaw's hair, and before Septima had time to react, he yanked a few raven strands from her hair as well. He dropped the two samples into separate glass vials and labeled them carefully.

"And while I'm at it-" He pulled a few straight black hairs from Harry's head, a few unruly brown ones from Hermione, and a couple from his own head for good measure and labeled those, too.

"So, these samples will tell us without for certain if one of us is a descendant of Ravenclaw?" Harry looked doubtfully at the glass vials.

"That's the idea. I have a friend in London who is a geneticist. I am sure he will be willing to run a few tests for me."

"What about... the other founders? Should we check their DNA, too?" Harry's green eyes were large in the dim light cast by the wands and the flashlight.

Langdon shot Harry a curious glance. "Why would we do that?" Then he noticed Harry's gaze flickering nervously in the direction of the emerald-studded coffin. _Ah. He's worried that he is a descendant of Slytherin? How very interesting. _

"Well, why not? We're here anyway. Might as well take a look at the other founders, I suppose. Hufflepuff next?"

The others nodded silently.

There was no inscription of Hufflepuff's coffin, just a bright array of golden jewels. The body of Helga Hufflepuff turned out to be as remarkably preserved as that of Rowena Ravenclaw. Helga Hufflepuff had a little smile on her pink lips, and a cloud of red-gold hair covered her pillow. A lustrous lock of hair found its way into a little vial marked "H. H."

Silently, the four of them approached the third coffin, whose lid was studded with rubies. Like Ravenclaw's coffin, Gryffindor's bore a faded inscription on the lid. Langdon read hesitantly: "_Iustus autem quasi leo confidens absque terrore erit."_

"_But the just, brave as a lion, shall be without fear. _Isn't that from the Bible?" said Hermione softly.

Langdon nodded. "Yes, indeed. Book of Proverbs. Very appropriate for the founder of the House of Gryffindor."

The four of them lifted the heavy lid aside and put it on the floor. Langdon peered curiously into the coffin. _How familiar you look, Godric Gryffindor! I feel as if I have seen your golden hair and beard, your noble expression, your scarlet cloak, and the sword that rests by your side, many times before... Where have I seen you? In a painting, perhaps? Ah, yes! King Arthur, the legendary sovereign... King Arthur, who never died, but who is said to rest in an enchanted sleep on the fabled Isle of Avalon. And one day, when Britain has need of him, he will rise again from his sleep and come to her aid. I wonder if you inspired those legends, noble Gryffindor..._

"Why is his sword in here?" Harry reached out and touched the ruby-studded hilt. "I thought the true sword of Gryffindor was the one in Dumbledore's office, the one I pulled from the Sorting Hat years ago."

Hermione leaned closer. "Is it the same sword, Harry?"

Harry traced the ancient sword with his gloved finger and pondered for a moment. "No, I don't think it is. It looks very similar, but it feels slightly different. These jewels right here have a different cut, and the shape of the hilt is not quite the same."

Harry and Hermione stood for a moment and regarded the body of Godric Gryffindor in silence. Then Hermione whispered: "How strange it is, to see Gryffindor himself..." She arranged a stray lock of his long golden hair more neatly on his pillow. She smiled up at Langdon. "I feel related to him," she said softly. "No matter what, if anything, the DNA tests will reveal. Here, Professor Langdon, let me - " She pulled a few golden strands from Gryffindor's hair. Langdon pretended not to notice that the curl she put into the vial he offered her was a little thinner; he suspected that the rest of the lock had found its way into Hermione's pocket.

"Of course you feel related to him, Hermione," said Septima softly. "You are a true Gryffindor."

"What about you, Professor Vector?" asked Harry abruptly. "Which house were you in when you were a student?"

Langdon already knew the answer before Septima spoke: "Ravenclaw."

He turned to the last coffin. "And now for you, Mr. Slytherin."

The coffin lid was adorned with a jeweled serpent, and a silver inscription read: "_Sed in novissimo mordebit ut coluber et sicut regulus venena diffundet_."

"_But in the end_," translated Hermione softly, "_it will bite like a serpent and spread poison like a__.._. What's a _r__egulus_, Professor?"

"A basilisk."

As they began to lift the emerald-encrusted lid, Langdon noticed that it was slightly askew, just a small fraction of an inch. _Perhaps some Heir of Slytherin has already been here before us..._

They put the lid aside and bent forward.

Hermione let out a little gasp.

_Salazar Slytherin's coffin was empty._

The four of them stared at each other. "Somebody took his body-?" Septima's whisper was almost inaudible.

"Or maybe he got up and began to wander about the castle on his own." Harry looked pale. "Wouldn't put it past Slytherin. He's Voldemort's ancestor, after all, isn't he? Perhaps he rose from his coffin through some dark magic..."

"Do you think _he_ could have anything to do with the murders?" Hermione's eyes were wide. "Perhaps his hatred for Ravenclaw made him attack students in her house."

Septima shuddered. "I could well believe it of Salazar Slytherin."

Langdon frowned. "Let's not leap to conclusions. Grave robbery seems more likely than the idea of an undead dark wizard roaming about the castle killing students. Besides, I'm not so sure Salazar Slytherin hated Rowena Ravenclaw."

He stepped over to Ravenclaw's coffin and lifted her alabaster hand. "She is wearing an emerald ring on her finger, after all."

He pulled the ring gently off Rowena Ravenclaw's slender finger and held it up to the beam from his flashlight. "There is an inscription inside. _R. R. from S. S._"

"What? Salazar Slytherin gave her a ring? Why would he do that?" Septima stared at the glittering jewel in his hand.

Langdon cleared his throat. "Why? Isn't that obvious, Septima? It's a wedding ring."

"Ravenclaw and Slytherin? No _way_!" Harry looked outraged now. "Why would a beautiful and brilliant lady like that marry _him_-?"

"Oh, it wouldn't be the first or the last time a charming and intelligent lady married a dark, brooding Slytherin, I suppose..." Langdon smiled at Septima, who looked very annoyed. "Maybe she had broken up with the gallant Gryffindor over some trifle, and was so heartbroken that she let herself be wooed by the sinister Slytherin... Ouch!" Septima had given him a swift little kick in the shins.

"This is not about you and me and _him, _Robert!" she hissed under her breath.

Hermione watched them with a smile, while Harry simply looked confused.

Langdon rubbed his shin. "No DNA sample from Slytherin, I'm afraid, unless-" He peeked into the coffin again. "Ah, we are in luck!" He plucked a black hair from the pillow in Slytherin's coffin.

"Let's put the lids back on. We have been down here long enough; you kids need some sleep. Can't have you falling asleep in class tomorrow, you know. I hear your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is rather strict."

They heaved the four marble lids back on the coffins. For a moment, Langdon stood still and regarded the four white boxes. They were arranged in a circle, but with a space between the coffins of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. _If there had been a fifth coffin here, in that empty space, they would have formed a perfect cinquefoil._

_..._

They all inhaled deeply as they entered Dumbledore's office again; the air down in the crypt had been difficult to breathe.

"Made it out again, I see," muttered the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

"Yes, we did, thank you." Septima gave the portrait her most charming smile, and Langdon could have sworn that the portrait almost smiled back.

"Do people enter the crypt often, Professor Black?" she asked sweetly. "Would you be able to remember anyone going in... or coming out?"

"I suppose I would," said Phineas Nigellus Black thoughtfully. "Can't keep track of all the people coming and going in this office of course, including _students..._" Here, he shot an accusing glance in Harry's direction. "But very few people ever enter the crypt, so I would remember the ones who do. Professor Snape used to go down there quite a bit in his day. Once, he even brought his _girlfriend..._Oh." A look of comprehension dawned in his face as he glanced at Septima. "That would have been you, now, wouldn't it? I can't blame you for moving on, my dear, although I think you can do a great deal better than a _Muggle_." He glared at Langdon.

Langdon decided to ignore the insult. "Has anyone else been down in the crypt recently? Within the past few years?"

Professor Black directed his answer to Septima: "Yes, someone has been going down there quite frequently. But I'm afraid I can't tell you who, my dear. The person who enters the crypt always comes at night, and as soon as the office door is open, everything becomes terribly dark. Not ordinary darkness either, but a deep impenetrable blackness that blinds me completely. Perhaps a spell, or some magical device. And then someone whispers the password, and I let them in, as is my duty."

"Sir, could you tell if the person is male or female?" asked Hermione. "Or even... a child? A student?"

"A student?" The portrait frowned. "I don't think a mere student would know the password to the crypt. But nothing would surprise me, really, when it comes to this generation. The person could be anybody I suppose, male or female, although I cannot really believe that a _lady_ would choose to spend her time among the coffins of the dead." He shuddered. "In _my _day..."

"Thank you so much, Professor," said Septima hurriedly. "We have taken up too much of your time already. Good night, Professor Black."

"Any time, my dear," said the portrait gallantly. "Perhaps next time, you can come alone, and I could tell you some stories about the old days."

"Perhaps."

"You've got a way with dark wizards, haven't you?" whispered Langdon softly in Septima's ear as they left the office. She poked him pointedly in the ribs.

Harry and Hermione headed up the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower, and Langdon and Septima set course for the hidden staircase that led up to the teachers' quarters.

"Do you want to come in and visit Rowena Ravenclaw's haunted bedchamber for a few moments?" Langdon suggested hopefully. "Somebody's been leaving me bottles of elf-made wine. Come and have a glass."

Septima hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded. "All right, but just for a few minutes. It's getting terribly late, and I'll make mistakes in my arithmancy lessons tomorrow if I'm too tired."

"Don't worry - Hermione will point them out to you." Langdon pushed his door open. Somebody had left him a crackling fire in the fireplace and a lit kerosene lamp on the desk, perhaps with the knowledge that his _lumos _spell left something to be desired.

A plum cake had appeared on a small table by his bed, accompanied by an open bottle of elf-made wine and a couple of glasses.

"Wow. The room service is rather astonishing around here." Langdon poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Septima.

She laughed. "Oh, I think Hagrid had a word with the house-elves on your behalf and mentioned how much you liked the food and wine. They get very eager when complimented."

"Do you think these house-elves would be up to collecting a few hundred DNA samples for me?"

"What are you going to do, have them run around with scissors and snip locks from everyone's hair? Wouldn't that make people wonder a bit?" Septima smiled. _How pretty she is when her eyes twinkle like that... _

"I was thinking of something a little more subtle."

"I suppose you can always ask them in the morning."

Langdon sat down in a deep armchair by the fire, and Septima sank down in another. For a few moments, they sipped their wine in comfortable silence and stared into the flickering flames.

Then Langdon broke the silence. "So what did you and Snape do down in the crypt, all those years ago? Did you ever... open the coffins?"

Septima laughed. "No, I only get to look at dead bodies when I'm spending the evening with you. Severus and I were simply exploring the castle."

"And making out in the crypt?"

To his disappointment, Septima did not laugh; she simply blushed a little. _Seriously? In the crypt? Good God, Snape, why not use the library like a civilized gentleman?_

"So, how long were you and Snape married?"

"Two years." Septima didn't look at him; she kept gazing into the flames.

"And how long ago was that?"

"Seventeen years ago..." There was a faraway look in her lovely dark eyes now.

"And were you... happy? While it lasted, I mean?" Langdon half hoped that she would say that the two years had been utterly miserable.

Septima sighed a little. "Yes. We were extremely happy for a while. Severus is a rather extraordinary man, you know, and very charming..."

"_Charming_?"

She smiled. "Yes, he was. Still is. But... well, he was not an easy man to live with." She turned and looked at him. "Perhaps I tend to fall for rather difficult men, Robert."

"Oh." Langdon blushed. _I was rather conceited twenty years ago, wasn't I? I'd like to think I've improved with age, though. And I never took my dates on crypt tours. Until tonight, at any rate._

"I wonder what happened to Salazar Slytherin," said Septima softly.

"Maybe he's teaching potions?"

Septima got up. "It's getting very late," she said coldly. "I need to get some sleep. See you tomorrow, Robert. It's been... an interesting night."

"Sorry, Septima. I didn't mean to..." He reached out for her and kissed her clumsily on the cheek.

"Good night, Robert." She slipped quietly out the door. He couldn't tell if she was angry with him or not.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, but when he finally did, he dreamed of Septima. Or perhaps it was Rowena Ravenclaw; he couldn't tell.


	6. Chapter 6

**~The Book of Abraham the Mage~**

**Chapter Six**

**In Which Langdon Gets a Black Eye, Hears a Riddle of Two Sisters, and Sees Strange Things on a Map**

**...**

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Thanks for the comments and reviews! SomeGuyFawkes, you are right (as always!): Hairs need to be pulled out with the roots in order to get a DNA sample - I've gone back and fixed that. Thanks! Sanosuke-1, I agree that "symbolist" is a better word than "symbologist", but since Langdon is called a "symbologist" in Dan Brown's books, I want to keep that term here. **_

_**...**_

"So Master wants..." The towel-clad house elf consulted his parchment again. "_Spit. _From each student, staff member, and house-elf at Hogwarts, in individual vials, each labeled with name and house affiliation?"

Langdon smiled. "That's correct, Mr. Dobby. Collected, if possible, without the knowledge of the wizards or house-elves in question. Do you think you can do that?"

"No problem, sir! Dobby will get master his spit, sir." The house elf gazed up at him with adoration in his enormous moss-green eyes.

On the few occasions when Langdon had ever thought about elves in the past, he had vaguely pictured them as lovely and ethereal mythical creatures. The helpful little house elves at Hogwarts, however, were distinctly non-ethereal; rather, they appeared to be some sort of hairless human-lemur hybrid with a touch of fruit bat around the ears.

Harry's friend Dobby turned out to be particularly amiable and eager to please. When they approached Dobby with the DNA sampling issue, Langdon had brought him a crimson Harvard tie to wear over his striped towel. The small gift had brought the little elf to the brink of rapture. "Classy," the elf had whispered to himself. "Very classy!"

Hermione frowned now. "Er... _How _are you planning to get the samples from everyone without attracting any notice, Dobby?"

"Simple, Miss!" Dobby beamed at her and straightened his tie, yet again. "Follow Dobby, Miss, and he will show you how he will collect the samples."

Langdon, Harry, Hermione, and Ron trailed after their towel-clad guide into the Hogwarts kitchens, where they were greeted immediatelly by throngs of affable house elves offering them pie.

"Not now, thank you," smiled Harry, but Ron took a couple of pieces. "Won't do to insult them, you know," he muttered through a mouthful of lemon meringue.

Harry and Hermione had filled Ron in on the details of last night's expedition to the crypt, and Ron had expressed heartfelt relief that he had slept through the whole thing. He did, however, appear to enjoy the tour of the kitchens quit a bit.

Langdon looked around the underground kitchens in amazement. He had half expected to see a few magic chefs flick their wands lazily at bubbling cauldrons, but there were no magical shortcuts down here. The Hogwarts kitchens were large and cozy and buzzing with activity. Small towel-clad figures were everywhere, chopping, baking, stirring, braising... Half a dozen house-elves were busy stuffing sausage casings with an aromatic, richly spiced venison mixture, while others were basting partridges, kneading pastry dough, and sauteing onions. Tonight's dinner promised to be another culinary masterpiece.

"Rosemary focaccia, sir?" An elf in a checkered towel appeared by Langdon's side, pressing something warm and fragrant into his hand.

"Almond macaroons?" suggested another one hopefully. Langdon declined politely, but tiny hands found their way to his pockets anyway, stuffing all sorts of napkin-wrapped delicacies into them.

Dobby led them to a vast room off the main kitchen, and the four of them looked around in wonder. They appeared to be in some sort of underground version of the Great Hall. The room was the same size as the dining hall above, and five long tables were arranged in the same pattern as those in the Great Hall. Langdon noted, however, that there were no chairs or benches in this hall. The tables down here were set with golden plates, goblets and water glasses, silverware and platters, but everything was empty. No starlit night or blue summer skies adorned the vaulted ceiling; instead, golden letters gleamed across the midnight blue expanse: _As above, so below. _

Langdon gazed in surprise at the ornate inscription above him. _The mystical words of the ancient sage Hermes Trimegistus? These house-elves must be well read... Although I'm pretty sure the old alchemist was talking about divine immanence rather than seating charts... _

"We are right under the Great Hall, Professor Langdon, sir," explained Dobby eagerly. "When a meal is ready, the house elves will set out the food and drink down here, and then everything is magically transported up to the Great Hall above. After the meal, the empty dishes are transferred back down here. Every table setting down here corresponds to a spot above, so it will be easy for Dobby to collect a sample from each water glass after dinner before the dishes are done. These charts..." He indicated parchments along the walls "...shows who is sitting where and what their food preferences are."

Langdon glanced at the elaborate instructions on the parchments. Food allergies, dietary requirements, preferences... No corn beef for Ron Weasley, no meat for the Patil twins, no pork or seafood for Anthony Goldstein. _I wonder if Snape has any deadly allergies._

Then he saw the portrait. There was a single portrait on the far wall of the vast hall, above a small niche. A cloud of red-gold hair surrounded a sweet heart-shaped face... _Helga Hufflepuff! She looks exactly like the fair lady in the crypt below... _The portrait regarded Langdon with a little smile, and he found himself smiling back. In the small niche in the wall below the portrait were sprigs of fresh lavender and rosemary surrounding a single, flickering candle. _It's almost like an altar._

"And I don't like parsnips either," muttered Ron. "I wish they'd put that on there."

"No parsnips, Mr. Weasley?" Dobby gave him a look of great concern and snapped his tiny fingers. Immediately, the words "NO PARSNIPS" began to flash next to Ron's name on the chart.

"And where do the poor house elves eat, Dobby, once they are done with their slave labor?" asked Hermione quietly.

"Elf dining hall over that way, Miss," said Dobby cheerfully and indicated a smaller hall beyond. "Dobby will get spit from all the house elves for master, too."

"_Why_?" muttered Ron indistinctly, popping a macaroon in his mouth. "We are looking for the Heir of Ravenclaw, right? It's not going to be a house-elf, is it?"

"And how do you know that, Ron?" asked Langdon with a smile. "Some of the volumes on magical history I browsed suggest that wizard-elf intermarriage did occasionally take place in ancient times, although the practice is no longer common."

Ron stared at him in horror. "Wizards used to marry _elves_?" He cast Dobby a sideways glance and shuddered.

"I don't see why not," said Hermione hotly. "Just because wizards have always treated elves like slaves now, it doesn't mean that it's the way it _has _to be.."

"We will collect samples from the house elves as well," interrupted Langdon calmly. "Anyone else we are forgetting?"

Harry pondered for a moment. "Well, I don't think ghosts _have _any DNA, so we don't have to bother with them. Perhaps Peeves the poltergeist? And there's also Professor Trelawney, up in her tower; she doesn't usually come down for dinner."

"No problem, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby adjusted his tie. "An old house-elf named Pixy brings Professor Trelawney her meals; Dobby can get a used cup from Pixy."

"Excellent! Thank you, Dobby." Langdon smiled at the little elf. "Then all that remains is to get a DNA sample from this poltergeist. How hard could that be?"

...

"A black eye, Professor Langdon?" Snape's silky voice was full of sympathy. "Rogue volume from the Restricted Section, was it?"

"Poltergeist with an attitude," muttered Langdon. "But at least I could see _him. _And I _did _get a strand of hair in the end... Why on earth does the headmaster keep that little menace around anyway?"

Snape shrugged. "Oh, I think he came with the castle. Probably some ancestral Pictish spirit who's still pissed they built a castle on his land."

Langdon frowned. "You think he's _that_ old? As old as the founders? Perhaps it's worth asking him a question or two, then..."

Snape's black eyes glittered with amusement. "Oh, why not, Professor Langdon? I daresay you will find that Peeves is, at heart, a kindred postmodern spirit. He simply adores deconstructing things..."

...

"Peeves? Hello, Peeves? Are you sure he is here, Harry?" Langdon looked doubtfully around the empty classroom.

Harry studied the parchment in his hands. "Oh, he's here, Professor. Unlike the ghosts, Peeves is visible on this map. He's right here... _Duck!_"

Langdon dodged the flying chair just in time. "I need to talk to you, Peeves. No more hair pulling, I promise."

A metal dust bin flew out from behind the teacher's desk in response.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Professor." Harry sounded a little nervous. "A Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is generally expected to survive for a year, you know. Perhaps we should leave now."

"Oh, nonsense, Harry." Lagdon stood up and faced the desk. "_Peanfahel." _He spoke the ancient Pictish name softly.

A moment's silence followed, and then a dark fringe and a pair of small black eyes appeared over the edge of the desk.

"You know my _name_?" The dark eyes regarded Langdon with suspicion.

"Well, it could hardly be _Peeves, _could it, you ancient spirit of this land? You were here long before either Gaelic or English was ever spoken, weren't you? But your ancient name felt rough on their tongues, and the invaders began to pronounce it _Peeves. _I know your true name, Peanfahel, and I have brought you a gift." Langdon held out the rough grey stone he had carried in his pocket; Hermione had emblazoned the ancient symbol of the Pictish Beast upon it with her wand, the curious creature that was half seahorse, half dragon.

"Let me see that!" The stone vanished from his hands, pulled away by small, strong fingers.

A long silence. Then a small face peered out from behind the desk.

"I like your gift. It reminds me of who I once was. Before... Before all these strangers came and put bricks all over the place. Before they ruined the green and ancient land with _castles._"

"Is that why you are angry, Peeves? Is that why you play tricks on them? Because they ruined your land with bricks?"

Peeves nodded silently while turning the stone over in his hands.

"I understand your anger, but I'm not sure these random act of destruction are actually accomplishing anything, my friend. What you need is to find a _voice, _the ability to articulate your predicament. Here, perhaps you will enjoy this book."

Langdon held out a heavy, leather-bound volume.

"Magic?" Peeves eyed it suspiciously.

"Subaltern studies."

Peeves reached out for the volume and began to flip through its pages. "Hm. Interesting...Colonialism? Is that what they call it...?"

"Please keep the book. It's a gift for you."

"Thank you." The little black eyes regarded Langdon thoughtfully. "You need something, don't you? I suppose I wouldn't mind helping you. A few spiders in the potions master's bed?"

_Aaaah, tempting. But I must resist. _"No, thank you. Not today. But we could use some information, and it seems that you know the castle and its history better than anyone. Do you happen to know anything about The Order of the Black Raven?"

"Oh, yes, that I do." The black eyes glittered. "Flighty things, birds. Not always to be trusted."

"Who were they, the Order of the Black Raven?" whispered Landon. "When did they begin? Were they good or evil? Did they have the ancient Spear of Destiny? What happened to the Order? Does it still exist?"

Peeves chuckled softly and seated himself, cross-legged, on the desk. "They began, as all Orders do, with chaos." A mischievous grin lit up his odd little face, and he leaned his head to one side and sang softy:

_"Two sisters walked upon the moor._

_One dark as night, one bright as day._

_Which was the fairest, none can say. _

_But in his heart brave Gryffindor_

_thought Helga's golden hair less bright._

_Its light had faded when he saw_

_her sister's hair, as black as night._

_Dark as the night was Ravenclaw._

_But darker still was Slytherin._

_Dark was his heart, dark was the eye_

_he cast upon fair Helga's twin. _

_Her twin, you say? Oh, no, say I._

_So strange a riddle I will tell_

_of these two sisters. Listen well!_

_Born of one father were these sisters fair,_

_born of one mother, on the selfsame day,_

_the selfsame hour and the selfsame year._

_But twins they were not. Tell me, what were they,_

_the gentle Helga Hufflepuff the fair_

_and dark Rowena of the raven hair?"_

"Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were _sisters?" _Harry looked doubtfully at the little poltergeist.

Peeves nodded and giggled as he did a little cartwheel in the air.

"And they were born on the same day, in the same hour, in the same year, to the same parents, but they were _not_ twins?"

"That's right, Potty. Think you can figure out the riddle?"

"Does the riddle have anything to do with the Order?" asked Langdon softly. "Or with the Spear of Destiny? Is the spear still hidden at Hogwarts, Peanfahel?"

"Hidden?" Peeves laughed maniacally. "It's not hidden at all. That's why no one's found it yet."

"Can you at least tell us what happened to the Order-?"

Peeves shook his head gleefully. "No. No more answers until you have guessed the riddle of the two sisters." He whirled out the door, clutching his stone and his book to his chest.

"Wait, Peeves! Oh, damn it, where did he go?"

Harry checked the parchment in his hands. "Filch's office. Oh, no, he's off again, with Filch chasing after him..."

Langdon looked at the parchment over Harry's shoulder. "What _is _this thing, Harry? Is everyone in the whole school on here?"

Harry grinned. "More or less. It's the Marauders' Map, Professor. It used to belong to my father and his friends, years ago. I would appreciate if you didn't mention to anyone that I have it. It's... er... not on the list of approved school supplies."

"I see." Langdon smiled. "Are there lots of maps like this?"

"No, this is the only one, as far as I know. See, all the students and professor are on it, and the house-elves down in the kitchens. You can't see the ghosts on this map, though."

_No ghosts? This map can only see what I can see..._Langdon stared at the tiny dots moving along corridors and hallways, gathering in common rooms. _I wonder what Septima is doing. I don't see her; perhaps she is in the unplottable teachers' lounge. _

"No Chamber of Secrets on this map, I take it Harry?"

"No. And the Room of Requirement isn't on here either."

"The what?"

Harry flushed. "Oh, it's a room along this hallway right here. It only shows up when you need it."

"Very handy. No parking garage either, I see."

"Parking garage?"

"Never mind, Harry. Oh, look, there's Hermione in the library. What's she doing in the Restricted Section?"

They both leaned over the map, staring at the tiny dot marked "Hermione Granger". There were a few other students in the Restricted Section as well. There was Anthony Goldstein, in the next aisle, and Padma Patil a few aisles beyond. And there, in the far corner... _No. That can't be!_

Harry saw the name in the same instant as Langdon did. For a moment, the both stood frozen, staring at the impossible name on the map. _Salazar Slytherin? _

Then, in wordless agreement, they hurled themselves out the door and ran to the library.

...

"Of course you can't enter the Restricted Section, Potter. Not without written permission from a teacher." Madam Pince glared at him through her monocle.

"But she's in there... Hermione... She's in danger..."

"Nonsense, boy. There's no one in the Restricted Section, no one at all. I have been sitting here the whole afternoon. No one could have entered without my knowledge."

"But I _saw..._"

"It's all right, Madam Pince." Langdon finally rounded the corner, panting. He was in good shape, but even he had not been able to keep up with Harry. "Mr. Potter and I have a little research to do."

"_Research_?" Madam Pince regarded him suspiciously for a moment, her left eye strangely magnified behind the single glass of her monocle. _I swear she has sisters who work in the Harvard Special Collections. _

Finally, she sighed. "Oh, all right, then. Since you are a professor. But you'd better not be bringing any chocolate in there. Or soup."

Langdon wondered vaguely how on earth she thought it possible for him to conceal soup on his person, but he pushed the thought aside and dashed off to find Hermione.

To his relief, they found her sitting in one of the aisles, immersed in an enormous ancient volume. She glanced up with a smile as they approached. "Hi, Harry. Hello, Professor. Look at this, it says that Ravenclaw's daughter Helena..."

"Thank God you are all right, Hermione," whispered Harry. "Get your wand out, _now_! I saw Salazar Slytherin on the Maruaders' Map; he's right here, in the Restricted Section."

Hermione's eyes widened. She whipped out her wand and moved silently to the end of the aisle with them.

Langdon pulled his hawthorn wand out too, for good measure, although he wasn't really sure why. _Perhaps I can stab the undead school founder in the eye with it if he attacks us._

They peered around the corner. Anthony Goldstein was lying on his stomach in the middle of the next aisle, furiously copying words from an ancient Hebrew book onto a piece of parchment. Langdon could only make out a few words from where he stood: _Orev. Tzev. _

_Orev and Tzev. Oreb and Zeeb? Ah, there is a story in the Hebrew Bible, isn't there, about the princes Oreb and Zeeb who are slain by Gideon? _

Anthony suddenly glanced up. A look of terror crossed his face when he saw Langdon. "Professor?" He slammed the book shut and whisked the parchments away under his robes. "I'm just... Research... Homework..."

_I wonder why he is trying to hide his work? Why would I care if you are studying the story of Oreb? Wait a minute... "Oreb" means "Raven" in Hebrew, doesn't it? How very curious!_

Langdon put a finger to his lips and gestured wordlessly for Anthony to follow them. The dark, handsome Ravenclaw boy hesitated for a moment before nodding silently and pulling his wand out as well.

Padma Patil did not even glance up as they passed her. She sat curled up against one of the bookshelves, an old leather-bound volume in her lap. Her eyes were closed, but her lips were moving, as if she were reciting something to herself. _Sanskrit spells? _Her dark braid had come loose, and raven hair flowed over her shoulders. _Strange, how she looks like Septima all of a sudden._

They had reached the back corner of the Restricted Section now. There was little light in this part of the library; the ancient volumes were half invisible in the shadows. Was that a movement, a slight flutter in the corner? _Slytherin!_

No. Nothing. There was no one there.

"The map, Harry! Check the map!" hissed Langdon.

Harry hastily retrieved the parchment from his pocket. He studied it intently for a moment before shaking his head. "No, professor. He's not here. He's not anywhere, as far as I can see."

"Who are you looking for? And what kind of map is _that_?" Anthony glanced curiously at Harry.

"Never mind about the map, Anthony." Langdon gazed at the Ravenclaw boy. "Would you mind telling me how you come to be here in the Restricted Section when Madam Pince just swore to me that there was no one here?"

"Oh..." Anthony looked slightly guilty. "I got in the same way as everyone else, Professor. The way we always get in. Through one of the secret passages, of course."

"There are _secret passages _leading into the Restricted Section?" Harry scrutinized the map. "I don't see them."

"Of course not, Harry. They are unplottable," said Hermione softly. "I've known about them for a few years, of course; Anthony was the one who first told me about them. All the Ravenclaws know about the secret passages. They are very convenient when you have research to do and you don't want to trouble a teacher for a note... Oh, no! That means that the... person you were looking for could easily have slipped away unseen, concealed himself in an unplottable area..."

"Where does the secret passage lead, Hermione?" asked Langdon, scanning the map. "Perhaps we can still catch up with him."

But Hermione shook her head. "I'm afraid there are several of them. One leads to the Ravenclaw common room, one to an empty classroom on the third floor, and one to the teachers' quarters. I ended up there once by accident, but I managed to find my way back without being seen."

Langdon groaned.

"You actually _saw _him on the map?" Hermione turned to Harry, who nodded silently.

"Saw who?" Anthony tried again.

Langdon sighed. "Salazar Slytherin, Anthony. We are looking for Salazar Slytherin." He had assumed that Anthony would think it a joke. But to his surprise, Anthony did not laugh. The Raveclaw boy merely stood there in silence for a moment, his eyes turned to the floor, before responding.

"Salazar Slytherin? That's bad news, Professor. Very bad news indeed." His dark gaze met Langdon's. "Is there anything I can do to help, Professor?"

Langdon thought for a moment. "Well, perhaps you can help us solve a riddle. Tell me, Anthony: If two sisters are born to the same mother and the same father, on the same hour of the same day, in the same year, and they are not twins - what are they?"

A brief smile flitted over Anthony's serious face. "Well, that's obvious, isn't it, Professor?"

Hermione smiled too. "Yes, of _course!_"

"What?" Langdon stared from one to the other.

Anthony was grinning broadly now. "If they are not twins, in spite of being born to the same parents on the same day, they must be _triplets_, Professor Langdon. They are not twins because there is a _third _sister."


	7. Chapter 7

**~The Book of Abraham the Mage~**

**...**

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! For ImLostForever, who wondered what the Middle Egyptian curses in Chapter 4 meant: _Kheruwi _means... ahem... "posterior part of the body". The compound word _h____es_-tep is made up of _hes, _which means "excrement" and _tep, _which means "head". The compound word is not actually attested in extant Middle Egyptian texts...**

**...**

**Chapter Seven**

**In Which Professor Langdon Tries on**** a Hat, Sees a Murder of Ravens, and Receives a Letter by Owl**

...

"Now, Mr. Goldstein..." Professor Langdon gazed intently at the handsome dark-haired Ravenclaw boy, "we need to talk."

Anthony Goldstein shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to say, Professor. Sorry."

Robert Langdon had brought Harry, Hermione, and Anthony to his office; Padma was probably still sitting and reading in the Restricted Section, oblivious to any undead Hogwarts founders who might be roaming through the library. The three students were sitting in front of Langdon's desk now, looking at him as if they expected some sort of... magic? Langdon sighed. He had a distinct sense that Anthony Goldstein knew _something_, but what?

Langdon cleared his throat. "It seems to me that you were not nearly as surprised as you should have been at the mention of the long-dead Salazar Slytherin wandering around the castle, Mr. Goldstein."

Anthony did not respond; he merely gazed dreamily out the window.

"What can you tell us about Salazar Slytherin, Mr. Goldstein?"

"I can't tell you anything, Professor."

_Hm. This sounds familiar. That's what members of secret societies always say: "I can't tell you anything." Or even, "I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you."_

"Oh, _damn it, _Anthony, this is _important!_" Hermione put her hand gently on Anthony's arm. "If you know anything about Salazar Slytherin or... or about anything else that has been happening at Hogwarts recently, you must tell us. This is a matter of life and death!"

Anthony turned his dark, inscrutable gaze to Hermione. "I am aware of that, Hermione."

"Then why in Merlin's name won't you talk to us... _Oh._" Hermione looked thoughtfully at Anthony. "You can't, can you?"

"That's correct," said Anthony softly.

"Unbreakable oath?" There was sympathy in Hermione's glance now.

Anthony nodded, a slight smile illuminating his serious face for a moment.

_Yes, this is definitely familiar. _Langdon leaned forward. "You are under an oath not to speak of certain secrets, Mr. Goldstein?"

Anthony looked at him. "Yes, Professor. There are certain things I can't speak of to _anyone_. Well, except for people who already know..."

Langdon's eyes narrowed. "And would these secrets you can't speak of have anything to do with the Order of the Black Raven?"

Again, a brief smile. "I can't answer that, Professor. But you are an intelligent man; no doubt you will draw your own conclusions."

Langdon nodded. _Oh, I will. _"Mr. Goldstein, I have the deepest respect for any oaths you may have sworn, but you need to realize that these are extraordinary circumstances. There have been... deaths. Here at Hogwarts. And there will be more, unless we can get to the bottom of this mystery. Surely, human life is more important than an oath?"

Anthony flushed now. "It's an _unbreakable_ oath, Professor Langdon. That means I can't break it, even if I wanted to."

"Really? What would happen if you _did_ break it, Mr. Goldstein." _Would you have to kill us?_

"He would die, Professor." Hermione answered for him. "Unbreakable oaths are magically sealed; anyone who even attempts to break them will die."

Langdon stared at her. "The person who swore the oath would die? Just like that?"

Hermione and Anthony both nodded solemnly.

"Ah. Well that... presents a slight problem, then." _There must be some way to get around this? I need to find out what he knows!_

"Could you... answer "yes" or "no" questions, perhaps?" Harry looked hopefully at Anthony. "Or draw pictures? Or gesture?"

"Afraid not, Harry."

Hermione was staring at Anthony, apparently thinking hard. "You said there are certain things you can only discuss with those who already know them. Does that mean members of the Order of the Black Raven? Are you a member of the Order?"

Anthony smiled at her. "I can't answer that, Hermione. But permit me to say that I have often felt surprised that someone of your intelligence was not sorted into Ravenclaw."

Langdon gazed thoughtfully at Anthony. "If Miss Granger were to become a member of the Order of the Black Raven, would you be able to speak to her about what you know?"

"I can't answer that question, Professor. But I believe that _Hogwarts, a History_ mentions that only members of the House of Ravenclaw could be initiated into the ancient Order of the Black Raven, which would mean that even if such an order still existed, neither Harry nor Hermione could ever join it."

Anthony sat immersed in thought for a moment. Then he glanced up at Langdon. There was a sudden glitter in his dark eyes. "Speaking of house placement, Professor Langdon, you have never been sorted, have you?"

"No, of course not, I'm a squib."

"Anthony!" breathed Hermione. "You are brilliant! _He has never been sorted! _I wonder what the Sorting Hat would make of Professor Langdon? If it sorts him at all, I think there is a good chance he would be in Ravenclaw. A man of his intellect... And if he is sorted into Ravenclaw, he could be initiated into the Order of the Black Raven and learn their secrets!"

Harry looked at her doubtfully. "Seriously, Hermione? You think the Sorting Hat would sort someone who's not a wizard?"

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Hermione grinned. "Besides, how do we know that the Sorting Hat doesn't sort Muggles, Harry? Has anyone ever tried to make it do so?"

"Er... No, I don't think that's ever come up..."

"Well, there is a first time for everything, isn't there?"

...

"You wish to be _sorted_?" Dumbledore's gentle blue eyes widened behind his half-moon spectacles.

Langdon nodded. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore, I do."

"I see. Interesting..." Dumbledore smiled at the small group assembled in his office. "A most unorthodox idea, Mr. Langdon, but then you are a most unorthodox Hogwarts professor... I must say I wonder what the Hat would make of you, Robert Langdon."

Dumbledore got up and retrieved what Langdon had assumed until that moment was an old dust rag from his book shelf. It turned out to be a frayed cone-shaped hat with a wide brim.

"That's it? That's the famous Sorting Hat?" Langdon was a little disappointed; he had expected something a bit more glamorous.

"It is indeed." Dumbledore beamed at him. "It may not look like much, but this is a powerful ancient magical artifact. This hat once belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself."

Langdon could well believe that the ragged hat was a thousand years old; in fact, Gryffindor himself, judging by Langdon's brief glimpse of him in his coffin, appeared to have aged a great deal better than his hat.

"Now, let's see what the Hat has to say..."

Langdon felt Harry tugging on his sleeve. "Professor? When I was sorted, I sort of _asked_ the hat to place me in one house rather than another... It appeared to listen."

"Really? Thanks, Harry. That's good to know."

Langdon felt slightly nervous as the ancient Sorting Hat descended on his head. He held his breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt a slight movement above, and a creaky voice whispered: _"What the-?" _A string of curses, vile enough to make a Babylonian demon blush, followed.

Harry laughed. "I've never heard the Sorting Hat swear before..."

"Shhh." Hermione must have given Harry a swift kick in the shins, for Langdon heard a soft "ouch" followed by a whispered apology.

"_That_ is not a student!" The Sorting Hat sounded indignant.

"No, I'm not a student, Mr... er... Hat..." whispered Langdon. "I'm a Hogwarts professor, and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to sort me into one of the Hogwarts houses? Ravenclaw would be very nice..."

"_You_ are a Hogwarts professor?" The hat's tone was really not very flattering.

"A good one, too!" put in Harry with some enthusiasm.

The hat sighed. "Mr. Potter? Of course I should have known that you were involved in this; nothing's been _ordinary_ around here since you arrived, has it? But sorting Muggles? This one's smarter than most wizards, that's true, but there is not an ounce of magic in him. Why in Merlin's name does he need to be sorted?"

"This is very, very important," said Hermione softly. "Professor Langdon knows a great deal about magic, even if he is no wizard, and he has an important mission to fulfill here at Hogwarts."

"Is that so?" The Sorting Hat did not sound convinced.

"Yes. I should also add that Professor Langdon wishes to find out why Salazar Slytherin was walking around in the Restricted Section of the library today."

"_What_?" Dumbledore sank down in his chair. "Salazar Slytherin? Merlin's beard!"

"_Slytherin? _You said that _Slytherin-?" _Langdon could feel the Sorting Hat trembling on his head now. "But he's dead! At least he's _supposed _to be. By Godric's beard, that settles it! _Ravenclaw!_ There, you are sorted. Now, go get him, will you?"

"I'll do my best." Langdon reached up and patted the hat gently.

"Well, now that _that's _all settled..." Dumbledore reached for the hat.

Robert Langdon pulled away. "Just a moment, headmaster. I have a question for the Sorting Hat, if you don't mind."

"A question? What sort of question?" The Sorting Hat sounded mildly curious.

Langdon thought for a moment. "You have sorted Hogwarts students ever since Godric Gryffindor's time, haven't you? You have sorted them into the four houses of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin?"

The Sorting Hat muttered something affirmative.

"Has anyone ever been sorted into a different house?"

"Different? Different from what?"

"Different from the four houses I mentioned. Has anyone ever been sorted into a _fifth_ house?"

Before the Sorting Hat even had a chance to respond, Harry, Hermione, Anthony and Dumbledore answered together: "But there is no other..." "There are only four..." "You don't understand, Professor Langdon..." "There is no fifth..."

"Excuse me," said Langdon sternly, "I asked the Hat."

A long silence followed. Then the Sorting Hat said softly: "You are indeed worthy of Ravenclaw, Robert Langdon."

Langdon smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Hat. Now, please tell me: Is there a fifth Hogwarts house?"

The hat chuckled softly. "I can't answer your question, Professor Langdon. Why, if I told you _that..._ I would have to kill you."

...

Langdon shone his flashlight at the dial of his Mickey Mouse watch. Midnight. He could feel his heart beating faster.

"Are you ready, Professor Langdon?" asked Anthony Goldstein quietly.

Langdon nodded silently.

"Then please open the door."

Langdon glanced at the heavy oak door in front of him. There was no door handle or keyhole, merely a bronze door knocker in the shape of an eagle, its head turned to one side. Langdon reached out and knocked the eagle hesitantly against the door. It made a strange, hollow sound.

The next instant, the bronze eagle stirred to life, and it gazed at Langdon with a brilliant sapphire eye. "You wish to enter? Then tell me first: _Is the answer to this question 'no'_?"

"A riddle?" Langdon looked quizzically at Anthony Goldstein, who nodded.

"All right." Langdon thought for a moment. "Let see now..." _Is the answer to this question 'no'? Well, if it isn't, then the answer must be 'yes', which would mean that the answer isn't 'no', but rather 'yes'... Oh, that doesn't work... Let's say the answer to the question is 'no', then. But then 'no' is the answer to the question, so therefore the answer must be 'yes', rather than 'no'..._

He sighed. Was it his imagination, or was there a twinkle in that sapphire eye? He pondered for a moment, then answered in a clear voice: "Is the answer to your question 'no'? _Only if this statement is false_."

"Spoken like a true Ravenclaw!" fluted the bird softly. The next instant, the door swung open before him, revealing the Ravenclaw common room within.

Langdon stepped into the room and gasped at the sight that awaited him. The candlelit room was filled with _birds;_ monstrous black birds of human size. No, not birds, but rather dark-clad human shapes with the faces of ravens. Masks? No, these were no ordinary masks, for the inscrutable dark eyes that stared at him were not the eyes of humans, but of birds, and those were real feathers... Enchanted masks of some sort, then, masks that had merged so strangely with the human faces beneath that there was no trace of humanity left in their features?

_A murder of ravens. _The old phrase sprang, unbidden, into his mind. That's what people used to call a flock of ravens or crows, wasn't it? _A murder. _Just one of those strange collective terms, like _a pride of lions, a gaggle of geese, a train of jackdaws, a covey of partridges. A murder of ravens._

Why _murder_? The phrase suddenly struck him as ominous. For a moment, he stood on the threshold, unable to speak or move. The next instant, one of the ravens, a very small one, spoke to him. Its voice was friendly, familiar: "Welcome, Robert Langdon, to the Order of the Black Raven."

_Professor Flitwick? _

He stepped forward, and the door closed behind him with a thud. There were about thirty of them in the room, dark, brooding, birdlike shapes. Langdon glanced over at Anthony, but to his shock, he saw that Anthony too had been transformed into one of the sinister black birds now.

The bird that had been Anthony a moment ago addressed him in a solemn voice: "This is the ancient way of the ravens: As the raven will not feed a chick until it recognizes it as its own, so a teacher shall not tell the students of the inner mysteries until he recognizes that the student is ready to receive them, until the student has grown dark with repentance, black like a raven. I ask you now, Robert Langdon: Are you ready to become one of us?"

Langdon could not speak; he merely nodded.

Dark-clad figures approached him and a black cloak was draped over his shoulders. Langdon glanced around at the shapes that surrounded him, but he could find nothing familiar about them. Wait... a glimpse of long raven hair... Was that female figure Septima? Or was it Padma Patil? In the flickering candlelight, he couldn't tell.

The raven that had been Anthony spoke by his side: "You have been sorted into Ravenclaw House, O fledgling. For so it is written: E_t omne corvini generis in similitudinem suam. _And all that is of ravenkind, according to their likeness..." He paused for a moment. "According to their likeness, they are sorted." A murmur of assent ran through the room.

Another voice, one that Langdon did not recognize, spoke next: "___Tha gliocas an ceann an fhitich." _Langdon recognized the ancient Gaelic tongue, and he translated in his head: "There is wisdom in a raven's head."

But the next moment, he wished dearly that he had never cracked opened a Gaelic dictionary, for Anthony spoke softly in his ear: _"Bas an fhithich ort."_

Unfortunately, Langdon understood the phrase only too well: _A raven's death to you._

The crowd parted, and Langdon saw that something black loomed in the middle of the room. It was a rectangular box, hewn out of the purest black marble. The box was placed on a dais of sorts, with steps leading up to it. It was a coffin.

Langdon sighed. _Of course. I should have expected this. The symbolic death of the novice is a part of many initiation rituals. They will probably ask me to lie down in the coffin, to symbolize that I am dead to the world, and then they will put the lid on... I just hope to God that _they_ know the part about the death being symbolic._

The bird-that-was-Anthony handed him a silver chalice filled with a strange lilac liquid. Langdon thought back to the potions book he had perused rapidly during his flight from the U. S. _The Draught of Living Death? _

Anthony's voice whispered in his ear: "_Et ibi torrente bibes..."_

_And there thou shalt drink of the torrent... _Langdon lifted the chalice to his lips and swallowed obediently. The next moment, he felt his limbs go numb, and he fell to the floor. He was unable to speak or move, but his mind was still lucid, and he could hear and see everything that was going on around him. Dark shapes gathered around him, and he felt himself lifted off the floor by many hands. A moment after, he was lying in the black marble coffin. He gazed up into the inscrutable faces of the dark birds that surrounded him; was it his imagination, or was there a tear glistening in the eyes of one of the black ravens? He caught a momentary glimpse of long black hair...

The next moment, a black marble lid was lowered onto the coffin, and the sights and sounds of the world disappeared. Darkness. There was nothing but silence and darkness. The silence seemed to last for hours. Langdon, who had always had issues with claustrophobia, began to panic. _Help! Let me out! _But panicking made no difference whatsoever; he was still unable to move, and none of his silent screams could escape his lips.

_Help?_

_Help, I'm dying in here. Let me out! Please let me out..._

But there was only silence.

After what seemed like more than an eternity, the lid was lifted off the coffin, and eager hands reached for him, lifted him up. A gold chalice with a different liquid was brought to his lips now. Langdon sat up in the coffin, dazed. _Finally, I can move my limbs again... _A mask was pressed against his face, and he felt soft feathers brush against his skin. Someone muttered a spell in a language that even Langdon did not recognize, and the next instant, he felt a singular sensation of _becoming something different. _His senses felt more acute, his eyesight gained in clarity, and his consciousness became... _bird-like? _

"Arise, fledgling!" A soft voice spoke near his ear. A kiss was pressed against his cheek, and a voice murmured: "_Hoc est corvus meum..." _Others gathered around him now, and he felt numerous gentle kisses against his cheek and his forehead. Over and over, voices whispered: "_Hoc est corvus meum."_

_Hoc est corvus meum? This is my raven... _Langdon had never been a religious man, but something in him cringed at the words that were spoken. _A distortion of the words of the Holy Eucharist: Hoc est corpus meum_, _this is my body... _

Suddenly, his mask disappeared, and his senses returned to normal. The dark raven masks of the people surrounding him disappeared as well, and human faces emerged in their stead. Familiar faces... Septima... Filius Flitwich, Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil... Some of the students from his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes: Luna Lovegood, Michael Corner, Terry Boot, Cho Chang...

"All right! He made it!" Luna sounded pleasantly surprised. "I bet he's thirsty. I know I was, when I emerged from the coffin."

A cup of water was lifted to his lips, and Langdon took a few deep sips.

"Well done, Robert!" Langdon was still trying to shake off his memory of being inside the coffin, but Septima's radiant smile helped a lot.

"Why didn't you tell me that _you_ are a member of the Order of the Black Raven, Septima?" he whispered. The next instant, he knew the answer. "Oh, of course. Unbreakable oath?"

Septima nodded. "That's right, Robert. I could only tell you what the Hogwarts textbooks say about the Order, nothing more."

Langdon frowned. "Wait, don't I have to swear an Unbreakable Oath as well, then?"

Anthony Goldstein laughed. "I'm afraid you can't. Unbreakable Oaths require that the person swearing them has some magic, and it appears that you have none. But I would like you to give me your word, Robert Langdon, that you will never reveal the secrets of the Order to anyone who is not a member."

Robert Langdon nodded solemnly. "I give you my word, Anthony."

The Ravenclaw boy grinned. "Oh, yes, about that. When the members of the Order are gathered together, you must refer to me as Grand Master."

Langdon blinked. "You are... the Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven?"

Anthony nodded gravely. "Indeed I am. I have held this office since the previous Grand Master was murdered a year and a half ago."

"Murdered?" Langdon stared at him. "The last Grand Master was murdered? There was a murder at Hogwarts a year and a half ago? I never heard about that. Was it all hushed up at the time?"

"No, fledgling," said Anthony Goldstein softly. "The murder was well known at the time. In fact, I'm sure you have heard about it. The previous Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven was a boy by the name of Cedric Diggory."

"But..." Langdon felt his mind swirling. "Yes, of course I heard about _that..._ He was killed by Voldemort, in the graveyard. But... but how could Cedric have been the Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven? I thought he was in Hufflepuff? Wouldn't the Grand Master have to be a Ravenclaw?"

"True, Robert." Septima spoke quietly by his side. "But Cedric Diggory, you see, was _both._"

"Both? But I thought the Sorting Hat sorts people into one house or the other?"

Septima's dark eyes glittered. "That's true. In most cases, it does. But in a few rare cases, a student is sorted into two houses at once. The two houses are always Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. There seems to be an ancient connection between those two houses you see, a bond that ties them together... The Sorting Hat only calls out one name at the time of one of these anomalous sortings, but the student will show up in the magical school records as belonging in both houses alike."

"Really?" _Cedric Diggory, the Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven?_ "But his murder was a... a tragic coincidence, wasn't it? He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, didn't he?"

"Perhaps," said Anthony softly. "Or perhaps not." His dark gaze met Langdon's. "I understand that you have many questions, fledgling. I will be happy to answer them tomorrow. Right now you should go and rest; three hours in a closed coffin takes its toll on most people. Meet me in the Room of Requirement at noon."

Langdon bowed. "As you wish, Grand Master."

...

The next morning, as he was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, Langdon was attacked by a monstrous bird. For a fraction of a second, as he heard the sound of mighty wings descending upon him from above, he imagined that a heinous black raven was assaulting him, but it turned out to be a grey bird of massive proportions. The creature swooped down from the enchanted ceiling and descended upon him like a wild feathered wind. He gasped as the creature alit on his head and tore frantically at his hair with its cruel talons.

Somewhat to his surprise, none of his colleagues seemed at all concerned that a fiendish feathered being had just landed on his head.

Hagrid glanced up from his enormous omelette and beamed. "Oh, look, Langdon! Yeh got mail!"

_Mail? _Langdon fought his way, gasping, out from under the suffocating shroud of feathers. _That was ... the mail?_

He stared at the creature. Yes, it was an owl, and it appeared to have brought him something: A thick letter.

He breathed deeply and opened the letter with trembling hands.

_Dear Robert, _the letter read,

_I hope this letter finds you well. As per your instructions, I mailed this letter to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who will see to it that it is forwarded to you "via the regular channels", whatever those might be. Are you on a secret mission for MI-5 again, or is it the FBI this time? _

_I received your collection of DNA samples, and I have spent the last 24 hours in the lab analyzing them, as requested. I have outlined the results below. As you will see, some of the samples were indeed a close genetic match for the four "Founder samples". I have done what you have asked of me, old friend; I have traced the genetic relationships (see the enclosed charts). _

_But dear Lord, Robert - where did you get these samples? For there is something about ALL of them (or almost all of them; the sample marked "RL" has a somewhat different genetic makeup from the rest) that is so unbelievable, so sensational, that I cannot bring myself to write about it in a letter. Come and see me in London, Robert, as soon as you can, and tell me where in God's name you got these samples. A population like this should not exist! And yet it does... The scientist in me trembles at the thought of what these samples will do to our understanding of genetics... _

_Anyway, Robert, here are the results you asked for. I have answered your questions - now have mercy on me and come and find me soon and answer MINE. _

_Yours ever,_

_Tim _

Several more sheets of paper were included. Langdon glanced quickly through them; they appeared to be tables and charts and brief paragraphs outlining the results of the genetic analysis. He turned to a page entitled _Notes on the Founder Samples _and read: _Samples "SS" and "GG" are both from male subjects, and samples "RR" and "HH" from female subjects. The two females, "RR" and "HH" have identical mitochondrial DNA, and must be from close maternal relatives - perhaps mother and daughter, or sisters._

The next page had the heading _Relationship of the remaining samples to the Founder Samples. _Langdon skipped the elaborate charts and read the summary at the bottom of the page:

_Seven subjects shared mitochondrial DNA with "RR" and "HH" (in other words, these samples are from subjects related to the "Founders" "RR" and "HH" through their mother's bloodline): PP1, PP2, HP, GW, AG, SV, and D. Since "RR" and "HH" have identical mitochondrial DNA, it was not possible to determine whether these seven subjects are direct descendants of "RR" or "HH"_

Langdon stared at the initials. _The Heir of Ravenclaw... One of these seven people must be the Heir of Ravenclaw... PP1, PP2, HP, GW, AG, SV, and D. Parvati Patil, Padma Patil, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Anthony Goldstein, Septima Vector and... Dobby? _He felt his head spinning.

According to Tim Calgary, one of the world's leading experts on genetics, any one of these seven could be a direct descendant of either Rowena Ravenclaw or Helga Hufflepuff.

A part of Langdon was not terribly surprised to see Septima's name on the list; she did after all look a great deal like Rowena Ravenclaw... And so did Padma and Parvati, now that he thought about it. And the dark Anthony Goldstein of Ravenclaw... But Harry Potter? And Ginny Weasley_?_ Wait... How could Ginny be on the list, but none of the other Weasleys? Langdon shook his head in confusion. _Brothers and sisters should have the same mitochondrial DNA, passed on to them from their mother. So if Ginny shares Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's mitochondrial DNA, but none of the other Weasleys do, that means that she is not related to her six brothers! But they all look so much alike, with their flaming red hair... Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, after having six boys in a row, decided to adopt a red-haired baby girl? Perhaps they adopted the long-lost Heir of Ravenclaw? Or perhaps the Heir of Ravenclaw is the little towel-clad house elf Dobby?_

Langdon sighed deeply and read on: _An analysis of the male subjects' Y chromosome revealed that t__wo male subjects were related to "Founder GG": HP and AD._ Langdon smiled. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore? The descendants of Godric Gryffindor? So Harry was related to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff on his mother's side and Godric Gryffindor on his father's side? Somehow, Langdon had a feeling that Harry would be rather pleased to hear that. He turned to the next paragraph: _And finally, three male subjects were related to "Founder SS": FF, DM, and GG._ Filius Flitwick, Draco Malfoy, and Gregory Goyle were the Heirs of Slytherin?

Langdon looked around the Great Hall. Padma and Parvati Patil, the pretty Indian twins. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Ginny Weasley, who was throwing pieces of bacon at two laughing red-haired twin boys who were not, after all, her brothers. Anthony Goldstein, the Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven. Septima, beautiful Septima. And Dobby, who was probably down in the kitchens at this moment, washing dishes.

_One of them is the Heir of Ravenclaw. But which one is it?_


	8. Chapter 8

**~The Book of Abraham the Mage~**

**Chapter 8**

**In which Robert Langdon Walks Through a Wall, Hears Slytherin's Promise and Sees a Murdered Innkeeper.**

**...**

_Author's Note: _

_My apologies for the delay in posting. I had some trouble with this chapter - hopefully you will enjoy how it turned out. Thanks to those who voted in the poll on my profile; so far the readers seem to favor the idea that The Heir of Ravenclaw in someone other than the seven people identified by the DNA tests. Interesting..._

_..._

_Wizarding Nerd Note: _

_In this chapter, Elfrida Clagg, the well-known champion of Golden Snidget rights, is presented as the headmistress of Hogwarts in the mid-14th century. This date for Elfrida Clagg is based on _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which tells us that Ms. Clagg became Chief of the Wizard's Council in the 14th century, rather than on the (possibly spurious?) chocolate frog card, which places her in the 17th century._

**...**

Robert Langdon slammed his head against the ancient stone wall and groaned.

Harry's directions had been so very simple: _Go to the seventh floor and find the tapestry that depicts Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet. On the wall opposite the tapestry, there will be a doorway. In order to open the doorway and enter the Room of Requirement, you need to concentrate on what you need the room inside to be._ Well, right now Langdon needed the room to be the place where he was supposed to meet the Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven at noon, but no matter how hard he focused, no doorway materialized.

Was he in the right place? Yes, this _was_ the seventh floor, and Langdon supposed that the stomping hairy monsters dressed in matching peach-colored tulle outfits depicted in the tapestry _were _attempting something that could vaguely be classified as "ballet". And the small apple-cheeked wizard directing the wildly flailing brutes with an expression of rapture on his face _did _strike Langdon as distinctly "barmy". Yes, this was the spot. So why wouldn't the door open?

Langdon rapped the wall firmly with his hawthorn wand. "Hello? Alohomora, please!" The wall remained stonily impenetrable. Behind him, Langdon head Barnabas the Barmy giggling slightly, and he had a sinking feeling it wasn't the trolls he was laughing at.

Langdon glanced at his Mickey Mouse watch and sighed. Ten after twelve. He was late already. He breathed deeply, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus even harder. _I reallyreallyreally need this doorway to open, and I reallyreallyreally need the room inside to be the place where I'm supposed to meet Anthony Goldstein. _He opened his eyes and looked hopefully at the blank wall. Was there a slight movement? No.

Yes! A distinct doorway was appearing in the stone wall now, and Anthony stuck his head out. "Oh, there you are, Professor! I was waiting for you. Come on quickly, before someone sees you." He pulled Langdon in through the doorway.

Langdon looked curiously around the room he had just entered. It was a pleasant little study, not unlike his own office at Harvard, filled with ancient books, curious magical artifacts, and two deep armchairs. A cluster of small glass vials containing some swirling silver liquid stood on a small table. _Potions? _A strange stone vessel, resembling a antique baptismal font, stood in the center of the room.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come, fledgling," Anthony gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs.

Langdon sat down. "Sorry about that, Grand Master. I... er... had some trouble finding my way in."

"Oh." Anthony chuckled. "I didn't even think of that. I suppose this room _would _be hard to find for a Muggle, wouldn't it? I don't know that any other Muggle has ever tried, so the thought never entered my mind."

Langdon glanced around the study. "So this room... It turns into anything you want?"

"That's correct." Anthony nodded gravely. "It's a bathroom if you _really_ need to go, a romantic restaurant for date nights, an indoor Quidditch field if your team needs some more practice when it's raining, and, of course, a storage place for items people wish to hide. Muggle romance novels, fire-whiskey, exam crib sheets, explicit centaur stories..."

"Explicit _what_?" Langdon raised an eyebrow.

Anthony flushed. "Oh, don't ask. I wish I had never found those. Took me weeks to get the images out of my mind. "

"So what is this room when no one is in here? Empty? Or just indeterminate?"

Anthony frowned. "I don't know. I've never thought about that."

"Perhaps this is where Schrödinger keeps his cat?"

"Who?" The Ravenclaw boy was clearly not familiar with Muggle scientific paradoxes. "I've never come across any cats in here, but I suppose it's possible."

"Never mind. Now, what's _that_? The christening font? Do you require me to undergo some sort of ritual baptism?"

"What?" Anthony stared at him blankly for a moment. Then he followed Langdon's glance to the stone vessel. "Oh, _that._ No, that's a Pensieve. The headmaster has one like it in his office. It's for memories."

"Memories?"

Anthony smiled. "I promised to tell you something about the history of our order, fledgling. What better way to learn the secrets of our ancient order than to see them with your own eyes?" He picked up one of the small glass vials. "I hope this works for Muggles, too. Your minds can't work all that differently from ours. Just to make sure you can see the memories, I cast a few spells beforehand, the same ones the headmaster must have used to make Hogwarts visible to you in the first place. I probably should have used a few of those spells on the doorway, too, shouldn't I?"

Anthony poured the contents of the vial into the stone basin. "Let's start with Rowena herself, shall we?"

Langdon watched in fascination as the silver liquid swirled around in the font. A light silvery mist rose from the vessel.

"After you," said Anthony softly.

"After me?" Langdon was baffled. "What am I supposed to do? Drink that?"

Anthony sighed. "No, fledgling. After you _into the Pensieve_."

Langdon looked doubtfully at the silvery swirls. There was barely enough liquid in the tank to get the top of his head wet. But if Anthony insisted-

He took a deep breath and stuck his head into the font.

_Good God, what is this? _Langdon sputtered madly as he found himself sucked into a strange maelstrom of sorts, a wild vortex of silver and mist, pulling him into unknown depths where no depths should be. _What the hell?_

The next instant the whirling mist was gone, and Langdon was standing in a comfortable bedchamber. He blinked and glanced around in confusion. The room was very familiar to him; it was the bedroom he had been sleeping in since his arrival at Hogwarts: Rowena Ravenclaw's own chamber. But the room seemed starker and more austere now; the plush comfortable arm chairs by the fire had been replaced by a plain wooden bench, and the desk and bookcases were gone. Instead, books were piled high on the floor. Instead of the carved four-poster bed, a simpler wooden bed covered in rough woolen blankets stood against the wall. And someone was lying in it.

Langdon caught a glimpse of ivory skin and raven hair amid the pillows. Rowena?

But Rowena was not alone; a handsome dark-haired man was sitting by her bedside, whispering her name.

"Oh." Langdon flushed. "I am so terribly sorry, Ma'am, we did not mean to intrude..."

"They can't hear us," said Anthony softly. "They are not real people, you see, just memories of the past."

_Just memories? _Langdon stared at the couple who were exchanging a rather passionate kiss. _Man, that's a very vivid memory!_

"Oh, Rowena, my love..." The dark-haired man finally broke the kiss. His voice was unsteady. "I can't bear the thought of losing you. Let me bring in the healer again; there must be _something _left that they haven't tried, some rare potion that could heal you..."

Rowena turned her feverish glance to the man by her side. "No, Salazar. There is nothing anyone can do for me now."

_Salazar? That's Salazar Slytherin? _Langdon looked at the dark-haired man with some interest. For some reason, a part of him had rather expected Salazar Slytherin to look like the hooked-nosed Severus Snape, but he had to admit that the founder bore very little resemblance to the sarcastic potions master. Salazar Slytherin, it had to be admitted, looked more like a very young and very fit long-haired George Clooney in medieval costume. Langdon frowned. For some reason, he found Slytherin's good looks rather annoying.

"My poor Helena!" Rowena whispered. "He _murdered_ her, that jealous bastard! It's all my fault; I should have known better than to send the Baron to Albania to look for her. I should have gone myself." Tears trickled down her pale cheeks.

Salazar bent over her and kissed the tears away. "You can't blame yourself, my love. It was all his fault."

"Where is he now? My daughter's murderer?" Rowena's voice was almost inaudible.

Salazar stroked her raven hair. "He's dead, my darling. Suicide, apparently."

"Oh." Rowena sighed softly. Then she stiffened momentarily, and her fevered glance searched her companion's face. "You... you didn't have anything to do with it, did you Salazar?"

"Of course not, my love. What a ridiculous idea! It was his own remorse that killed him, I swear." The words fell a little too easily from Salazar's lips, as if they had been rehearsed in advance.

Rowena was silent for a moment. Then she whispered: "You didn't find the diadem, did you, dear?"

Salazar shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Helena must have hidden it well."

"Oh, the poor, sweet girl! I wish she had just _asked_ me for it instead of stealing it from her own mother. The diadem would have been her inheritance one day anyway."

"Speaking of inheritance, my dear-"

Rowena sighed. "Are my sisters still making a fuss about the spear?"

A shadow of a smile passed over Salazar's dark, handsome features. "I'm afraid they are, rather.

"It's all so silly," muttered Rowena. "The spear has always been passed on from mother to daughter in our family, and Mother _did_ say very explicitly before her death that the spear now belonged to _me, _since I am the oldest of her daughters."

Salazar grinned. "Yes, by several minutes, my love. Your sisters are not disputing _your_ ownership of the spear; they _are _suggesting - rather tactlessly, I feel - that if you don't recover from this illness, the spear should be passed on to Helga. Of course, the spear should have been passed on to Helena, _your_ daughter, but seeing that she is dead..."

A strangled sob escaped Rowena. "Can you _believe_ my sisters? The spear was given to _me, _and if my direct bloodline ends with me, so will the passing of the spear."

Salazar smiled. "Your sisters will never get their hands on the spear, my dear, I have seen to that. If the spear were to belong to Helga, that would be one thing. She _is_ after all a pure-blood witch herself, in spite of her odd ideas about magic and blood and equality. But Helga doesn't have any children of her own, and if the spear were hers, it would be passed on to your sister Edlynn and her children after Helga's death. Imagine, the Spear of Destiny in the hands of _Edlynn's children!_" His dark eyes flashed. "I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening, my dear."

Rowena gazed up at him. "What did you do with the spear, my love? Have you hidden it well?"

The dark-haired wizard laughed. "I have hidden it precisely where you told me, my clever raven. No one will ever think to look for it _there... _And I had a false spear made, to throw your jealous sisters off the track. I gave the fake spear to your friend Otto. Told him it was a coronation present. He just became emperor, you know. Calls himself Otto III of the Holy Roman Empire."

"To Otto?" Rowena smiled slightly. "Yes, he would have liked that. Did he think it was real?"

"Yes, of course. He was terribly pleased about it. He won't be able to tell the difference. Let's hope he's a better emperor than wizard; he flunked Divination twice, didn't he?"

Rowena laughed a little and closed her eyes. "I'm feeling very tired, Salazar... Promise me you will protect the true spear for me, my love."

Salazar kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I promise you that I will protect the spear forever, my darling."

"For as long as you live..." Rowena's voice was a barely audible whisper now.

Salazar gazed at her for a long moment. "No, I meant _forever..._" he said softly.

Suddenly, the bedchamber seemed to fade away, and Langdon found himself back in the Room of Requirement with Anthony.

Langdon blinked rapidly. "Wait, so that was-?"

"The memory of the dying Rowena Ravenclaw, yes." Anthony smiled.

"So the true Spear of Destiny is still hidden here at Hogwarts, then?"

"Perhaps. Ready to learn more, fledgling?" Anthony held up another glass vial. "This is a memory of a dramatic event that took place some three and a half centuries after the moment you just witnessed. This memory belongs to another lady of Ravenclaw House. She passed this memory on to the Grand Master of our Order before she died five years ago."

"_What_?" Langdon stared at Anthony. "That can't be right? If this is a memory of something that happened around..." He did a quick calculation in his head. "... around 1350, how could the owner of the memory have been alive _five years ago_?"

"Ah." Anthony's dark eyes glittered. "Good question, fledgling. This-" He poured the contents of the little glass bottle into the Pensieve, "is a memory that belonged to a lady by the name of Perenelle Flamel."

Langdon stared at the radiant silver mist that swirled around in the tank. "Perenelle Flamel? The wife of the alchemist Nicolas Flamel?"

Anthony nodded. "Precisely. Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone, and he was able to produce enough Elixir of Life to keep himself and his wife alive for centuries. They were both members of the Order of the Black Raven, and I suspect that their story is also closely tied to the Spear of Destiny. This memory is from Perenelle's seventh year at Hogwarts. In the 14th century, there was a new magical school in France as well, Beauxbatons in the Pyrenees, but some conservative French wizarding families still chose to send their children to the older and more well-regarded institution of Hogwarts in Britain. And for the young Perenelle, Hogwarts definitely had some attractions, including a handsome young French potions master by the name of Nicolas Flamel, who was some five years her senior. Shall we, fledgling?"

Langdon took a deep breath and plunged his head back into the Pensieve.

A moment after, he stood in a large, airy room decorated with blue and bronze tapestries. He recognized it immediately as the Ravenclaw common room. The soft, hazy light that slanted through the tall windows told him that it was probably shortly after dawn.

His glance traveled around the room. The Ravenclaw common room did not seem all that different in the 14th century; the tapestries were the same ones he had seen during his initiation last night, and the tall shelves still held many of the same books, although their bindings seemed a little crisper now. Even the midnight-blue carpets and some of the chairs were the same, and there was the lovely white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw...

Langdon stifled a scream as he saw what was lying on the floor next to Ravenclaw's statue.

"A... a dead body?"

"Yes, indeed," said Anthony softly.

The next moment, a very pretty girl with flaming red hair walked through the room, and she saw exactly what Langdon had just seen: A large man with auburn hair and beard lay crumpled on the floor. Dark crimson stains soaked his green woolen shirt and pooled on the floor underneath him.

The girl screamed.

Moments after, other people rushed into the room. They ran straight to the girl; apparently, the couldn't see Langdon and Anthony at all.

"Perenelle? What's wrong?" A chubby teenage boy was the first to reach the girl. He glanced down at the man on the floor. "Oh, Merlin! But that's... that's... Hengist!"

"Hengist of Woodcroft?" A thin blonde girl pushed her way through the crowd that was gathering around the body. "The innkeeper at the Three Broomsticks? Yes, that's him, isn't it? Oh, look, there's blood everywhere; he must have been stabbed to death."

"Step back, everyone!" A young, dark-haired man had entered the room now. He grew pale for a moment when he saw the body on the floor, but he kept calm and immediately took charge. "I will deal with this. I want all students back in their dormitories, now. Except for you, Perenelle." He turned to the chubby boy. "Fergus, you shouldn't even be here in the first place. You're not even in Ravenclaw. Please go and notify the Headmistress that there is an emergency in the Ravenclaw common room, and then go back to Hufflepuff, please."

Most of the students, pale and shaking, scampered off, whispering among themselves.

"You too, Wendelin."

The blonde girl whined. "But Professor Flamel, this is so _interesting_! I really want to find out more about what happened..."

"_Now!_"

"All right, all right. No need to get your feathers in a bunch, Professor." The girl dragged her feet sulkily towards the staircase.

"Interesting?" The pretty red-haired girl covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Merlin! How can Wendelin find this... _interesting_?"

"Never mind her; she's a little weird." Nicolas Flamel put his hand on the red-haired girl's shoulder. "Are you all right, Perenelle? Merlin, this must have been a shock for you." He wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"Not now, Nicolas." She freed herself from his embrace. "Anyone can walk in and see us."

"So? You are my fiancee, after all."

"And I will marry you the day after I graduate from Hogwarts. But until then, we had better behave like a professor and a student should." She glanced down and the body and shuddered. "Oh, Nicolas, what do you think happened to Hengist?"

Nicolas gazed thoughtfully at the man on the floor. "I truly have no idea, my love. But I would feel much better if you left Hogwarts until this is all cleared up. Go back to your family in France for a while, my dear. I will join you there as soon as I can."

Perenelle's eyes were wide. "Do you think it has something to do with... the Order?"

Nicolas Flamel stroked her flaming hair thoughtfully. "It is difficult to think otherwise, when the Grand Master lies murdered in the Ravenclaw common room, isn't it? Besides, his wounds..." He gazed down at the body and swallowed, "...appear to have been made by a spear."

He walked over to the dead man and scrutinized the body carefully. "Wait; I think I see something underneath him..." He lifted the body slightly and pulled out a blood-stained book. "It's in Hebrew."

Perenelle gasped. "Wait, is that the book by the Levite priest Hengist was talking about? The one that talks about the origins of the spear?"

"Perhaps." Nicolas hid the book quickly inside his robes. "I will take this for now. Don't tell anyone about the book, Perenelle."

The door to the common room was flung open, and a stout lady walked briskly in.

"Professor Clagg, I'm afraid there's been an accident..." Nicolas turned to her.

"An accident?" The stout lady regarded the body for a moment. "Don't be an idiot, Nicolas. That was no accident. Hengist was murdered. The Wizard's Council must be notified immediately. Let's send the students home until the perpetrator has been caught."

She shook her head sadly. "Poor Hengist! I remember him so well from his student days! Such a clever boy he was! No wonder he was a Ravenclaw. A little too fond of that gruesome game the students always play, but otherwise very sweet and pleasant." She shuddered. "Quidditch! Now, if I had my way, that terrible sport would be banned. Those poor little birds! What have those lovely little Golden Snidgets ever done to anyone to deserve being chased after like that, I would like to know. Why the children can't play their silly games with a little ball or something instead, I really don't know."

She turned to Nicolas Flamel. "Now, this... this murder wouldn't have anything to do with that strange club of yours, would it, Nicolas?"

Nicolas grew pale. "What club, Elfrida?"

She snorted. "Oh, don't think I don't know about it. As Headmistress of Hogwarts, I do occasionally hear things about what's going on in my own school, you know. And I have heard little snippets here and there about some _bird club._ Something to do with ravens. Well, it had better not involve any games with _real_ ravens, Nicolas, or you'll hear from _me_."

Elfrida Clegg looked at Hengist and shook her head. "I suppose it's all got to do with that _inn _that Hengist started. Why a respectable wizard would begin to sell _ale_ out of his own home is beyond me. All sorts of unsavory characters were beginning to come around just to taste his ale and firewhiskey. There were so many strange wizards by his house last week, it was beginning to look like some sort of _wizarding village. _I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out one of his drunk customers got him in the end. Sometimes I don't know what the world is coming to._" _

...

"You recognized the chubby Hufflepuff boy, Fergus, of course," said Anthony as they landed back in the Room of Requirement.

Langdon pondered for a moment. He had an excellent memory, but he really could not recall seeing the round-faced boy before. "I'm afraid not, Grand Master."

"Really? But he's... Oh." Anthony laughed. "I keep forgetting that you can't _see_ half of what's around you. That was the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff house ghost. No, of course you wouldn't recognize him; ghosts are invisible to you, aren't they?"

"So what happened to the book? The book that Nicolas Flamel hid in his robes?"

Anthony sighed. "I wish I knew. Nicolas Flamel became the next Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven after Hengist of Woodcroft, but he never mentioned the book to anyone. There were rumors that Flamel had the fabled _Book of Abraham the Mage _in his possession, and hints that the book had something to do with the Spear of Destiny itself, but Flamel took his secrets with him to the grave."

"To the grave?" Langdon smiled a little. "I have actually visited Flamel's grave in Paris. But if he died five years ago, I can only assume that the rumors that his 14th century grave is empty are entirely true. He designed his own tombstone, you know. It's a fascinating work of art. The inscription itself is fairly boring; just a list of bequests to various people, but the figures carved in bas relief are rather interesting. At the bottom of the stone, there is an image of Flamel himself, lying dead in a funeral shroud. But above him are three religious figures: Christ holding a globe and making the sign of the benediction, flanked by two saints. At least, I think they are supposed to be saints. The one on his left is holding a book and a key, and the one to his right, something that appears to be either a very long sword or a lance..."

"Really?" Anthony looked at him with some interest. "But that's almost like..."

"_Lancea et clavis._ The lance and the key. The motto of the Order of the Black Raven, exactly." Langdon nodded. "Interesting, isn't it? And I happen to know that Flamel also designed another gravestone of sorts, a funeral arch for his wife Perenelle. It's in the Cemetery of the Innocents in Paris. The three figures from Flamel's tombstone are depicted on the funeral arch. But on the arch, the figure holding the spear also has a banner. And that banner reads: "_Dele mala quae feci._"

Anthony stared at him. "Wipe out the evils I have done? I wonder why Flamel would have added that inscription. Who does it refer to, I wonder? To him, or to Perenelle?"

"Or perhaps," that Langdon thoughtfully, "to the person holding the spear?"

"Ah, yes." Anthony nodded. "And that, fledgling, brings us to the story of Cedric Diggory."


	9. Chapter 9

**~The Book of Abraham the Mage~**

**Chapter 9**

**In Which Cedric Diggory Wonders About a Man Called Perks, the Pensieve is Put to a New Purpose, and a Strange Chime is Heard in the Room of Requirement. **

**...**

"And now," said Anthony softly, holding up another glittering vial, "it is time for you to meet another Grand Master of our order. Professor Langdon, meet the great wizard Cedric Diggory."

Anthony poured the silvery liquid into the ancient stone basin of the Pensieve. "Shall we, fledgling?"

...

"_Someone plans to murder Harry Potter_!" The tiny dark-clad man paced restlessly back and forth in the book-lined study. He dabbed at his forehead with a large crimson handkerchief and continued walking in circles on the threadbare carpet. "_Why_ Dumbledore is allowing this deadly game to proceed, I really can't imagine."

"Stop pacing, Filius. You are making me dizzy. For Merlin's sake, sit down." The handsome brown-haired boy who spoke could hardly have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old, but the small professor obeyed him immediately. Filius Flitwick sank down in one of the plump overstuffed armchairs with a sigh.

"I beg your pardon, Grand Master."

The boy inclined his head slightly, as a sign that the apology had been accepted. "I share your concern, Filius. Only a very powerful wizard could have confounded the Goblet of Fire to allow Harry's name to have been entered." A brief smile illuminated the boy's angelic face. "I ought to know; I had a hell of a hard time bewitching it myself. The Goblet had apparently identified Angelina Johnson as the most suitable Hogwarts champion. Angelina would have made a splendid champion, of course, but seeing what happened during the Triwizard Tournament of 1792, I _had_ to make sure I was included in this one."

The tiny professor peered up at him, his dark eyes magnified through his thick round glasses. "You think the legends are true, then, Grand Master? The Spear of Destiny was involved in the Triwizard Tournament of 1792?"

The boy nodded. "_Some _magical object of immense power was involved, that's for certain. I have gone through the written witness accounts from the time; they are quite confused and disjointed, but all the witnesses who survived seem to agree that the Durmstrang champion, young Voron Karkaroff, was well ahead of the others as the final task drew close to completion. It seemed inevitable that he was going to win the tournament. But at the last moment, the Hogwarts champion performed an unidentified act of immensely powerful magic, which left the entire tournament field and part of the surrounding area severely burnt and damaged. The chains that held the cockatrice from the first task were blasted to pieces, and several judges and spectators were killed or gravely injured. The Hogwarts champion was awarded the Triwizard Cup, but he refused to reveal what magic spell he had used to disable his Durmstrang rival, and in the end, the blast was assumed to be the result of some unspecified magical accident. The Durmstrang champion died shortly thereafter, though whether from his injuries or from shock, no one could tell. Headmaster Everard, following the storm of criticism against Hogwarts, decided to ban the Triwizard Tournament altogether. It was an unpopular decision at the time, but perhaps a wise one."

"Who was the Hogwarts champion at that time?"

"The Hogwarts champion," said the brown-haired boy gravely, "was a young man by the name of Solomon Perks."

The little charms professor raised an eyebrow. "An ancestor of Sally-Anne Perks, perhaps, the little girl in Ravenclaw?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, indeed. And according to the secret records of our order, Solomon Perks was also a member of the Order of the Black Raven, until his expulsion from our society in 1791."

"Expulsion?" whispered Flitwick. "What was he expelled for?"

The boy shook his head. "It is not entirely clear. The Grand Master at the time simply noted in the records: "Expelled due to involvement in the Dark Arts."

Flitwick sighed. "I can't say I like this, Grand Master. I wish Dumbledore would come to his senses and cancel _this_ Triwizard Tournament. It seems that dark magic is involved yet again, and I fear for Harry's safety as well as yours, Grand Master."

The boy smiled. "Oh, don't worry about me, Filius; as you know, I am a far more accomplished wizard than most people suspect." He paused for a moment. "This is my chance to find the spear, Filius!" There was a sudden glitter in his grey eyes. "Two hundred years ago, Solomon Perks entered the Triwizard tournament, carrying only a wand that had been carefully inspected by the tournament judges. And yet, at the end of the final task, he performed magic that suggested that he had the Spear of Destiny itself in his possession. But when he came out of the maze that had been created for the third task, he carried nothing but his wand. I tell you, fledgling, no mere wand could have caused that sort of destruction! At some point during the third task, Solomon Perks found the Spear of Destiny. And at some point during the third task, Solomon Perks hid the Spear of Destiny again. Dumbledore has let slip that this year's tournament will be modeled on previous ones. The champions will yet again face dragons, they will delve into the depths of the Hogwarts Lake, and they will yet again have to enter that curious labyrinth, constructed according to the ancient magical design specified in the rule book. Don't you see, fledgling, I _have _to enter the tournament to see if I can find any clues at all to the whereabouts of the spear. This is my chance to retrace Solomon Perks' steps on that fateful day." The boy glanced at the charms teacher. "But I wonder - yes, I _do_ wonder if it is a coincidence that Harry Potter's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire? Or is _that_ connected to the Spear of Destiny as well?"

Flitwick stared at him, aghast. "You don't think this business of about the Goblet is connected to the Spear, do you? I had assumed that Harry's predicament had something to do with... well, with _You-know-who._ There are rumors, after all, that he may be back, and he may very well be after the boy. Surely, you don't think that You-know-who has designs on the Spear of Destiny as well?"

The boy shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure what to think, Filius. But you can rest assured that I will keep an eye on Harry during the tournament. The poor boy will need all the help he can get."

Slowly, the cozy study itself began to flicker, and the figures of the man and the boy began to fade. Robert Langdon, by now thoroughly dazed, found himself back in the Room of Requirement. He blinked rapidly and turned to Anthony Goldstein. "So that was Flitwick's memory, then?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes, fledgling. And the boy with him was the previous Grand Master of our order, Cedric Diggory. Unfortunately, Flitwick's misgivings were well founded; Cedric did not survive the Triwizard Tournament. According to Harry Potter's testimony, Cedric was killed by Voldemort himself. Which was in itself rather remarkable, since Cedric possessed magical abilities well beyond his years."

"And the spear?"

Anthony shook his head slowly. "That's just it, Professor. I don't know. If Cedric found any clues to the whereabouts of the spear, he did not live long enough to share them with the other members of the order."

"And after his death, you became the next Grand Master?" Langdon looked thoughtfully at the dark-haired Ravenclaw boy. "Why you, Anthony? And why _him_? Cedric Diggory was a mere boy, and so are you. It's not that I doubt your abilities for a moment, but I am curious as to why the members of the Order chose such young Grand Masters. Why not someone older and more experienced, like Flitwick himself? Or... or Professor Vector, perhaps?"

Anthony smiled slightly. "Oh, the Grand Master is not elected by the members of the Order, fledgling. This is a magical order, not a democracy. It is the Sorting Hat that appoints the new Grand Master. When one Grand Master dies or chooses to step down, we... er... _borrow_ the Sorting Hat from the headmaster's office for the Choosing Ceremony. All the order members try the Hat on in turn, and the Sorting Hat proclaims one person to be the new Grand Master."

"I see." Langdon scrutinized the pale face of the boy in front of him. "Now, Anthony - sorry, Grand Master - there is something I have been meaning to ask you. The three Ravenclaw girls who were said to have been expelled in September..."

Anthony looked down. His voice trembled slightly as he said: "Morag, Mandy, and Sally-Anne. They were murdered. That's why the headmaster brought you here. Filius told me all about it." He swallowed. "They were members of the Order, you see. All three of them, which is why Filius felt that he should report it to me, even though the Headmaster had told the teachers to keep the murders a secret. And I fear that the deaths of the poor girls are connected to the Order as well."

"Mandy was your girlfriend?" asked Langdon softly.

Anthony did not look up. "Yes, she was." His voice trembled. "I _will_ find out who did this, fledgling, I swear by Rowena herself..."

Langdon studied him for a moment. Then he said softly: "What about Sally-Anne? Was she really a descendant of Solomon Perks, the Hogwarts champion?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes, she was. She wrote to me last summer, actually, and told me that she had made some rather exciting discoveries among her family's papers. Sally-Anne traveled with her parents to France last summer; they have a vacation home in Montsegur in the Pyrenees that has been in their family for generations. I got an owl from Sally-Anne; she had found some old letters behind an attic wall, some secret correspondence between Solomon Perks and Nicolas Flamel. She was rather excited about her find, and she wrote that the letters she had found might shed some light on the Triwizard Tournament of 1792. Unfortunately, she did not want to put the details in the letter to me; she wrote that she would tell me everything when the new semester began." Anthony swallowed. "Unfortunately, Sally-Anne did not have a chance to do so. I.. I did send a discreet inquiry to her parents as soon as I decently could after their daughter's tragic death, but they knew nothing of any letters. Apparently, she did not confide in her parents."

"Sally-Anne spent her last summer in the village of Montsegur?" Something stirred in the back of Langdon's mind. "The ancient Cathar stronghold, rumored to be the original Grail Castle?" He drew his breath deeply. "Nazi airplanes flew in strange formations over Montsegur during the last days of World War II; no one ever knew why. But it was rumored that they were looking for something..."

"Montsegur," said Anthony softly, "is also the location of the ancient French school of magic, Beauxbatons."

"Is it, now?" Langdon thought for a moment. _The French Pyrenees. A rather romantic place for a weekend getaway... Perhaps I can talk Septima into a little trip to France. _He could well imagine walking with Septima among the wild, rugged mountains, searching through the Perks house, spending the night in a quaint romantic inn...

Langdon sighed wistfully and glanced at his Mickey Mouse watch. "Well, we should get going, Anthony. Sorry, I mean _Grand Maste_r. It's almost time for Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked uncertainly at the door he had entered. "Now, will I be able to exit the Room of Requirement, or will _that_ require magical abilities as well? Do I have to focus on the corridor outside or something?"

Anthony laughed. "No, anyone can exit this room, fledgling. Go right ahead."

"_Ouf!_" Langdon slammed right into the heavy oak door. He rubbed his forehead gingerly. _Anyone can exit this room, huh? _"Er... I think you'd better go first, Grand Master."

"How did _that_ happen?" Anthony looked at the door in surprise. "Even a Muggle should be able to get _out_ of the Room of Requirement. Here, let me get the door." He pushed at the ancient oak door with all his might. It didn't budge.

Anthony frowned. "What in Merlin's name is going on with this door? It seems to be stuck. _Alohomora!_"

Nothing happened.

Anthony turned to Langdon, his face pale. "You know a lot of ancient spells, Professor. You don't happen to know any other spells that would unlock a door, would you?"

Langdon thought for a moment. "_Ethpthah?_ That's Aramaic; I heard Snape use that one at the gate when we arrived. Or how about_ apavrnotu -_ that's "may it open" in Sanskrit..."

Anthony tried both spells, but to no avail. He was beginning to look worried now. "Something is wrong, fledgling. Very wrong." He pointed his wand at the door again. "_Confringo!_"

Langdon held his breath, but no explosion followed.

Anthony looked doubtfully at his wand. "Now, that spell should have done _something, _even if the door is magically sealed. There should have been a blast of some sort. My magic doesn't seem to be working at all." He flicked his wand again. _"Expecto patronum!_" They both looked hopefully at the wand, but there wasn't as much as a spark coming from Anthony's wand.

"Oh, great. We are trapped in the Room of Requirement!" Anthony sank down in one of the armchairs. "I guess all we can do is wait until someone comes looking for us. Does anyone even know you are here?"

Langdon nodded and sat down in the other chair. "Yes, Harry Potter knows; he was the one who gave me directions. And given that my Defense Against the Dark Arts class is about to begin, I suppose I will be missed shortly. Oh, and since we arranged this meeting last night in the Ravenclaw common room, I suppose quite a few of the members of the Order could have overheard us as well."

Anthony gazed moodily at his wand. "I wonder why my magic has suddenly stopped working. It worked just fine before, when I set the room up for us and when I enchanted the memories so a Muggle would be able to see them." He glanced around the room and breathed deeply. "It's rather unnerving, actually, being without access to magic all of a sudden. I don't see how you Muggles can do it, day in and day out. It makes me nervous." He smiled, but Langdon noticed that his face was rather white. "This is bad, Professor. I'm starting to feel a little claustrophobic all of a sudden, as if this room is closing in on me. I suppose it's a natural psychological reaction to being trapped in a small room."

Langdon sat immovable for a moment, glancing around the Room of Requirement. Then he whispered: "I'm afraid not, Grand Master."

"What?" Anthony looked bewildered.

"I'm afraid it's not a psychological reaction." Langdon leaped out of his chair. "You are right, Mr. Goldstein; this room _is_ closing in on us. I have an excellent spatial memory, and I always make a mental estimate of the size of a room when I enter it. When we entered the Room of Requirement, it was approximately 25 by 15 feet. Right now, it appears to be more like 20 feet by 12. The room is shrinking, Grand Master!"

"_What_?" Anthony jumped up and gazed frantically around the room. "By Merlin, you are right! We must find a way to stop it, quickly, or... or..."

"Or the Order of the Black Raven will need a new Grand Master," said Langdon quietly. "And Dumbledore will need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher..." He swallowed. _Damn claustrophobia! _He had always had an issue with small enclosed spaces.

Langdon turned to the pale Ravenclaw boy. "Come now, Anthony." He forced himself to speak calmly. "We are both intelligent men. There must be _some_ way to get out of this room before we are crushed to death."

Anthony took a deep breath, but he was still deadly pale. "You are right, Professor Langdon. We have to think. We cannot open the door from the inside. Therefore, we need someone to open it from the _outside_. Harry knows you are here, so he should come and look for you soon. The question is whether _he_ will be able to open the door. I.. I don't think he will."

Langdon stared at the dark-haired boy. "What? Why wouldn't he be able to open the door? He's got magic; he should be able to find his way into this room."

Anthony sighed. "Normally he would, yes, but when I got here, I instructed the room to become what I needed at the time: A study with two chairs and a Pensieve. I also instructed the room that we needed privacy, so I told it not to let anyone enter except for the two of us."

"Ah."

Anthony groaned. "Ah, indeed." He glanced warily at the walls. "It appears that someone knew of our meeting and cast some sort of deadly spell on this room. I wonder who could have done such a thing? I am rather good at magic myself, but casting a spell like that is far beyond anything I'm capable of."

"Perhaps it's the Heir of Ravenclaw," muttered Langdon.

"The Heir of Ravenclaw? Who's that?" Anthony seemed quite interested.

Langdon shrugged. "I wish I knew. Well, we can't just sit here, Mr. Goldstein. We have to find a way to get out. How about that Pensieve?"

Anthony looked doubtfully at the ancient stone basin. "You think we can escape through the Pensieve somehow, flee into a memory to avoid being crushed by the walls as they close in on us? I don't think that will work; we'd just be smashed to dust along with the Pensieve."

Langdon sighed. "Er... No. What I had in mind was something much simpler. The Pensieve is made of stone and must be very heavy. If you can help me lift it, we may be able to use it to break through the door."

Anthony smiled. "I like how you Muggles think, fledgling. Let's try it!"

...

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them sank down on the floor, panting. Langdon was fairly certain he had twisted his arm, and Anthony complained about his wrist, but they hadn't managed to knock as much as a splinter off the massive door. The walls of the room had moved a lot closer now, and Langdon gulped as he looked up at the looming bookshelves that surrounded them on all sides. Ten more minutes. Ten minutes, and we will be crushed to dust by these heavy walls... He imagined the sickening crunch of the walls against their bones, and he began to panic. Surely, there must be _something_ they could do, some way to re-activate Anthony's vanished magic...

_Ring! Ring!_

"What in Merlin's name is that? That strange chime? And where is it coming from?" Anthony looked around in confusion.

Langdon blinked. "I think it's coming from... _my pocket?_" He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out his still chiming cell phone. Yes, that was it! _His phone was ringing! _He stared at it. How was that even possible? Cell phones weren't supposed to work at Hogwarts... Wait - what was it Septima had said? Cell phones didn't work at Hogwarts _because there was too much magic in the air. _But there was no magic in the Room of Requirement right now, was there? Whoever had blocked Anthony's magic from working had also created an environment where his cell phone would finally work!

Langdon pushed a button with a trembling finger and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, Professor Langdon," said a familiar voice. "This is Hermione Granger speaking. Why are you not in class, Professor?"

Langdon almost laughed out loud in relief. "I'm not in class because I'm trapped in the Room of Requirement at the moment, along with Anthony Goldstein. We seem to be locked in; we can't open the door, and something is blocking Anthony from doing magic. And unfortunately, the room seems to be shrinking; I estimate that we will both be crushed to death in approximately eight minutes. And Anthony... er... set the room so that nobody can enter from the outside."

"Nobody? Oh, we'll see about that. Stand by, Professor." Hermione's voice was calm. "I'm down by Hagrid's hut right now; that's the only place where I could get a cell phone signal. I'll send my patronus for help; it should only take a minute." Langdon listened as Hermione muttered something he recognized as a Patronus spell.

"Why do you have a cell phone here at Hogwarts, Hermione? And how on earth did you get my number?"

"I've been experimenting with Muggle technology here at Hogwarts, Professor." Hermione's voice was calm. "There can be no doubt that Harry, Ron, and I will one day face Voldemort and his death eaters, can there? And although we may be good at magic for wizards our age, they are going to be even better. When the final battle comes, they will be able to fight off our spells and monitor our floo messages. But somehow, I don't think You-Know-Who will think to watch out for handguns or monitor cell phone calls. Anyway, when you didn't show up for class, I thought you might be in trouble, so I called your department chair at Harvard and got your cell number."

Langdon frowned. "My chair does not give out my cell number, Hermione."

"He does if someone claims to have found a grammatical error in one of the Coptic passages in your latest book. He knows you are _very_ anal-retentive about those things, and that you would panic if the error wasn't corrected right away."

"Ah." Langdon glanced up at the walls, which were now uncomfortably close. _Speaking of panic... _"I still don't see how anyone from the outside can help us, Hermione," he muttered. "No one can enter the room, remember?"

But he was wrong. Less than two minutes later, a loud crack was heard in the Room of Requirement, and a small towel-clad figure appeared by Langdon's side.

"Can Dobby help you, Professor Langdon, sir?"

Langdon stared, wide-eyed, at the little house-elf. "Dobby? How the hell did you get in here? I didn't think anyone could enter the room while we were in here."

Dobby's large green eyes twinkled. "Quite right, Mr. Langdon, sir. No human wizard could have entered the room. But wizards always seem to forget about house-elves, sir, and they forget to include us in the spells they create." He looked around the rapidly narrowing room. "Cozy room, sir!"

Langdon shuddered. "It's becoming a little too cozy for comfort, Dobby. Are you able to help us out of here?"

Dobby's eyes shone. "Yes, of course, Professor Langdon, sir. Dobby will bring Mr. Langdon and Mr. Goldstein to safety. Just hold Dobby's hands, sirs."

"Hold your hands?" Langdon didn't see how that would help, but he was willing to try anything at this point.

_What the hell? _Langdon gasped at the Room of Requirement appeared to reach its final stage of collapse. It felt as if not only the Room of Requirement itself, but the whole of Hogwarts came crashing in over him, slowly squeezing the breath out of his lungs. An unbearable weight pressed against him, and he groaned in pain.

The next moment, he was standing, quite inexplicably, in a place he recognized as the Hogwarts kitchens. Hordes of tiny house elves immediately descended on him with blueberry scones.

Langdon sank to the flagged stone floor, heaving for breath. "What the _hell_ was that?"

Dobby blinked at him. "Oh. Dobby did not realize it was Professor Langdon's first time apparating, or Dobby would have warned..."

"_Apparating_?" Langdon tried not to give in to the overwhelming feeling of nausea, but he couldn't help himself. He bent over and vomited miserably onto the kitchen floor. "Good God, don't tell me _that's_ what apparating feels like?" He was clearly going to have to rethink his proposed weekend plans; he had imagined Septima holding his hand as they beamed magically over to Montsegur for the weekend, but maybe apparating together wouldn't be quite as romantic as he had hoped.

"Thanks, Dobby," he whispered weakly, as the little house-elf cheerfully mopped up the mess he had just made. "You house-elves are fantastic, you know that?

Dobby giggled, and so did the other house-elves who had gathered around them.

"Well, you know what they say, sir," chirped a small elf in an orange tea towel.

_"When wizards' wands and spells shall fail,_

_Edlynn's children will prevail."_

_Edlynn' children?_ Langdon closed his eyes. Now, where had he heard of them before? Ah, yes: Salazar Slytherin had sworn that the Spear of Destiny would never fall into the hands of Rowena's third sister, Edlynn...

He looked curiously at the orange-clad house-elf. "Edlynn's children will prevail? Now, what exactly do you mean by that?"

The house-elf giggled. "Oh, it's just an old rhyme, sir. About house-elves."

"About _house-elves_?"

"That's right, sir." The little house-elf handed him a cucumber sandwich. Langdon accepted it, mechanically. "_Edlynn's children_ is just an old expression, meaning "house elves". No one really knows why we used to be called that. It's not a commonly used phrase anymore, so Master may not be familiar with it."

The other house-elves nodded, smiling. Langdon glanced up at them, his head spinning. "No, I had _not_ heard that expression before..."


	10. Chapter 10

**~The Book of Abraham the Mage~**

**Chapter 10**

**In Which Langdon Inquires about Keys, Reads Strange Signs on the Pensieve, and Plans a Romantic Weekend for Six.**

**...**

_Author's Note: The search for the Holy Grail Langdon refers to in this chapter is described in Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code. For those who haven't read the book, I won't spoil that story by giving away what the Grail turned out to be. But for those who have read the novel: Rest assured that the Spear of Destiny in this story will **not** turn out to be something...er... similar._

...

"So _house elves_ are the descendants of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff's lost sister Edlynn?" Anthony Goldstein scrambled up from the floor and eyed Langdon skeptically. "How is that even possible?"

Langdon glanced at the throngs of little hairless, towel-clad elves that surrounded them and smiled. _They don't exactly look like the lovely Rowena Ravenclaw, do they?_

He shook his head slightly. "I think a little research on the general history of house elves would be a good idea, Anthony." He glanced at his Mickey Mouse watch. "But right now, we are both late for class."

Anthony nodded, and they headed rapidly up from the kitchens, refusing a few last minute offers of _brioche au sucre_. Anthony still looked a little pale. "That was a rather harrowing experience in the Room of Requirement. Thank Merlin for that Muggle communication device you had with you, fledgling."

Langdon arched an eyebrow. "That's _Professor_ Fledgling to you, Mr. Goldstein. We are just entering a public area."

The Grand Master of the Order of the Black Raven flushed a little. "Sorry, Professor."

They wove their way through the ancient torchlit corridors towards the classrooms. Langdon's glance lingered on Anthony's dark hair. _Black. His hair is as black as a raven's. As black as Rowena's... And the DNA test showed that he could be a descendant of Ravenclaw himself on his mother's side..._

"I've been curious about your name, Mr. Goldstein," said Langdon softly. "You have a traditional Jewish last name, but "Anthony" is the name of a Christian saint. Very few traditional Jews would choose such overtly Christian names for their children."

Anthony shrugged. "My father is Jewish, but my mother is not." He smiled slightly. "I'm a half-blood in all ways, Professor. Half Jewish, half gentile - and half wizard, half Muggle. My non-Jewish mother attended Hogwarts, but my Jewish father has no magical abilities. The funny thing is that _he_ is the one who is obsessed with magic; he is always reading ancient kabbalistic texts in Hebrew. My father is a very learned man, and his family hoped that he would become a rabbi like his father and his grandfather before him. But he didn't. He married my mother, you see, and a gentile witch does not make an ideal rabbi's wife..."

"Perhaps not." Langdon glanced curiously at Anthony. "So your father has no magical abilities? And yet, he immerses himself in the Kabbalah, and his last name is not without a certain alchemical significance... _Goldstein. _"Gold stone" in both German and Yiddish, right? Perhaps a reference to the fabled philosopher's stone of the alchemists?"

"Perhaps." Anthony's face was impassive.

"A curiously magical name for a Muggle, isn't it?"

Anthony smiled slightly now. "I think you will find that most Jewish Muggles are practically half-wizards, Professor. It must be all that time we spend studying obscure texts on supernatural matters in an ancient language."

"There you are, Professor!" Hermione came hurrying towards them, with Harry in her wake. "Thank goodness you are both all right. I ran into Padma Patil in the hallways, and she told me that you were terribly late for your afternoon class with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. She was on her way to report your absence to the headmaster when I met her. I realized that something must be terribly wrong, and I tried to find you."

"You met Padma Patil out in the hallways?" Langdon looked thoughtfully at Hermione. _So Padma Patil, distant descendant of Ravenclaw, was out roaming the corridors of Hogwarts this afternoon, was she? _"So all the other sixth year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students have been in the classroom waiting for me, then? But the Gryffindors and Slytherins have a free period?"

"That's right." Harry nodded. Then his brilliant green eyes widened. "Oh. You don't think that a _student_ could have cast that deadly curse on the Room of Requirement, do you?"

Anthony looked grave. "It would be a very, very difficult thing to do, Harry. But if a student had secretly studied magic well beyond his or her years..."

Langdon sighed. "Or it could have been a professor. Or a house elf. Or the undead Salazar Slytherin. Come on, Anthony, let's get to class. I wonder if anyone will be surprised to see us?"

But if any of the sixth year Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff students seemed astonished to see Robert Langdon and Anthony Goldstein alive and well, they certainly hid it well. Most of the students were napping peacefully at their desks, a few of the Ravenclaws were doing homework, and the rest of them were chatting idly about what appeared to be Quidditch-related matters.

"Did you get lost in the corridors, Professor?" Padma Patil's dark eyes were full of sympathy.

Langdon looked at her for a long moment. "I suppose you can say that, Miss Patil. Now, if you will all repeat the following incantation: _Gaz-gaz lu-zu-kur..._"

...

"What I don't understand," mused Langdon later that afternoon, as he lounged in front of the fireplace in Rowena Ravenclaw's bedchamber with Septima, "is how there can be so many matrilineal descendants of Ravenclaw or her sisters about in the first place. Ravenclaw herself only had one daughter, Helena, who was murdered before she could marry and have children. Helga Hufflepuff did not have any children, and the third sister, Edlynn, apparently hooked up with a house elf. Or rather, she hooked up with an erkling."

"She did _what_?" Septima puckered up her mouth, an expression of distaste on her lovely features.

Langdon chuckled. "I immersed myself in the curious history of house elves this afternoon. There was very little on the topic in the library, but I found a few interesting volumes among Rowena's own books here in her chamber. Apparently, the first house elves were the offspring of humans and erklings."

Septima's eyes grew wide. "_Erklings?_ The rogue child-eating elves?"

Langdon sighed. "Erklings don't eat children, Septima. That's just an ancient myth, born from prejudice. Apparently, Edlynn fell in love with an erkling, and she must have married him, too. There was one single volume on house elves in the Hogwarts library, a book somewhat disturbingly entitled _Born to Serve. _A brief footnote suggested darkly that wizards were better off following the example set by the Black family in beheading house elves rather than the example of one Edlynn Erkling. The footnote did not specify precisely what Edlynn was guilty of, but I think we can imagine: She married an elf and took the name "Erkling"."

Septima sipped her tea thoughtfully. "So _all_ house elves are the descendants of Edlynn?"

Langdon shook his head. "No, I don't think so. But maybe the very first house elves _were_ Edlynn's biological children. _Hogwarts: A History_ tells us that it was Helga Hufflepuff who first brought house elves to Hogwarts to work here."

"She would bring her own sister's children to work at Hogwarts as _servants_?"

"Yes, it sounds odd, doesn't it?" said Langdon slowly. "But if both Edlynn and her husband were dead by then, I can't imagine that the wizarding world - or the erkling world, for that matter - would have been very kind to their hybrid offspring. Perhaps Helga brought them here to protect them and give them a safe place to live." He pondered for a moment. "But even if Helga's untraditional marriage to an erkling was the first, there must have been others that followed. For there is only a single house elf at Hogwarts whose DNA shows that he is descended from Ravenclaw or her sisters: Dobby. And from what Harry told me, he only arrived at Hogwarts a few years ago; he used to work for a wizarding family before that. Where did the other house elves come from? From other human-erkling marriages, I suppose..."

"I'm sorry, Robert, I still can't help but feel that those marriages were a bit... well, unnatural..." Septima's voice trailed off.

Langdon sighed. "Well, that's apparently what Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin felt as well, since they were so horrified at the thought of the Spear of Destiny falling into the hands of Edlynn's children..."

"Right." Septima sat in silence for a moment. Then she whispered, her dark eyes wide: "So, do you think it possible that _Dobby_ is the heir of Ravenclaw then? The Master of Magic Sybill was rambling about?"

Langdon shrugged. "Hard to tell, Septima. Dobby is one possible Heir, yes. But there are others. According to the DNA tests, you yourself, the Patil twins, Anthony, Harry, and Ginny are all descended from Ravenclaw or one of her close maternal relatives as well. Any one of you could be the Heir... Although I don't really understand _how_ you can be descended from one of the three sisters." He reached out and brushed a lock of Septima's raven hair with his fingertips. "You don't exactly look like you are descended from a house elf, my lovely Septima."

Septima laughed a little. "I wouldn't have to be a descendant of Edlynn and her erkling beau, Robert. It's true that the history books tell us that both Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw died without a living heir, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Back in the Middle Ages, people tended to be rather quiet about children born out of wedlock. I hardly think anything like that would have been recorded by the historians. Perhaps Rowena's daughter Helena had an illegitimate child before she died? Or maybe Hufflepuff herself had a child out of wedlock?"

"True." Langdon gazed into the flickering flames of the fire. "Rowena or one of her sisters _must_ have had a daughter, whose female bloodline has continued to this very day. The Heir of Ravenclaw could of course be either male or female, but if it's a male, he would have to be related to Ravenclaw through his mother. And since the DNA tests showed that there are still living male descendants of Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, the two male founders must both have had sons, even though the history books are silent on that subject as well."

There was a timid knock on the door, and Dobby peeked in. "Begging your pardon, sir and madam, but dinner is ready in the Great Hall."

"Thank you, Dobby." Langdon regarded the tiny house elf thoughtfully. "Say, Dobby, did you hear that I was recently sorted by the Sorting Hat? It put me in the House of Ravenclaw."

The little house elf beamed. "Yes, sir, Dobby heard. Dobby was very pleased, sir, but not at all surprised that the great Professor Langdon was placed in the House of Ravenclaw."

Langdon got up and walked slowly towards the door. "Were _you_ ever sorted when you arrived at Hogwarts, Dobby?" he asked casually.

The elf froze.

"Dobby?"

The elf gazed up at Langdon with enormous gooseberry eyes. "House elves do not belong in any of the four great houses of Hogwarts, sir," he whispered.

Langdon kneeled down so that he was at eye-level with the elf. He looked the towel-clad elf straight in the eye. "What about the fifth great Hogwarts house, then, Dobby? What about the House of Erkling?"

The little elf blinked slowly, as in shock, then crumpled to the floor. He had fainted.

...

At dinner, Langdon found himself next to Rubeus Hagrid again. He grinned up at the friendly half-giant, and Hagrid beamed back.

"Yeh look a little tired there, Langdon. Rough job, teaching, isn't it?" Hagrid chewed pensively on a leg of lamb.

"A little rougher than expected at times, yes."

"Tha' was how it was for me, too, the firs' few months. Teaching is mighty hard on the brain, compared to jus' being gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys." Hagrid took a swig from a huge tankard of ale.

"Keeper of Keys?" Langdon mumbled through a mouthful of mutton. "Which keys are those, Mr. Hagrid?"

"What keys? Why, the Hogwarts keys, of course," muttered Hagrid indistinctly, finishing off his lamb.

Langdon frowned. "Why are there _keys_ at Hogwarts? That doesn't make any sense, does it? I thought all doors around here are opened and closed by magical spells and passwords."

"Wha'? Oh, yes. So they are, Langdon."

"Then what are the keys for? The ones you are keeping?"

Was it just his imagination, or was Hagrid beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable. "Oh, they are jus'... keys. They don't open anything."

"Then why do you need to keep them?"

"Er..." Hagrid's gaze flickered. "Yeh know, I don't think I'm supposed to talk abou' that. Forget I said anything about keys, Langdon. Here, have some of this ale, will yeh?"

Langdon accepted the ale thoughtfully. "So, Mr. Hagrid, I understand that you were once a student here at Hogwarts yourself."

Hagrid beamed. "So I was, Langdon. I got expelled in me third year, thou'. Bit of a misunderstanding abou' a spider."

"Ah, yes. Septima told me about that."

Hagrid sighed a little. "People are a bit prejudiced agains' giants, yeh know. Can't be helped."

"Your mother was a giantess, Septima tells me?"

Hagrid nodded, helping himself to a whole chicken.

"But your father was a human wizard?"

"That he was!" Hagrid chortled. "Puny little feller, me dad. I could pick him up wi' one hand and lift him. Made him laugh so hard..."

Langdon smiled. "What was your father's name, then?"

Hagrid sat absolutely still for a moment. Then he said, unnaturally loudly and cheerfully: "His name? Oh, the name wouldn't mean a thing to yeh, Langdon. Here, try the chicken..."

Langdon tried the chicken. It was excellent, but he didn't enjoy it as much as he should. His thoughts kept churning, and his glance kept drifting over to his curious half-giant friend, the son of a nameless father, and the keeper of keys that unlocked no doors.

...

The corridors were empty by now. It was very late, but the torches still flickered along the ancient stone passages of the castle. Langdon glanced quickly at the Marauders' Map over Harry's shoulder; there was no one about except for their own little band of marauders: Harry, Hermione, and Professors Langdon and Vector.

"Coast is clear, Professor." Harry smiled up at Langdon.

Langdon nodded. "All right. Now, we are looking for the Spear of Destiny, but bear in mind that it may not have the appearance of a spear. Salazar Slytherin hid it here at Hogwarts, and he concealed it so well that no one has found it since. On the other hand, Mr. Peeves informs me that the spear is not really hidden at all, but that was all I could get out of him."

"Perhaps it is somehow hidden in plain view, then, disguised as something else?" Hermione's voice echoed in the narrow stone passage.

"Whatever it is, it has to be ancient, as old as the castle itself." Septima's voice was a whisper. "What are the oldest artifacts at Hogwarts?"

Harry pondered for a moment. "The Sword of Gryffindor?"

"How can a sword be a spear?" Hermione frowned. "That doesn't seem right."

"If it looked like a spear, someone would have found it long ago," put in Langdon mildly. "It is probably disguised as a common object; you may have walked right by it hundreds of times without knowing it."

"The Pensieve is old," Harry mused. "And so is the Sorting Hat. Wait - I pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the hat once - if the hat had a sword hidden inside it, maybe it contains a spear as well."

Langdon nodded. "Excellent. Let's add the Sword of Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat and the Pensieve to our list, then. I know that none of these items bear any obvious resemblance to the Spear of Destiny, but we can leave no stone unturned. We need to check everything at this school that has been here since the founder's time, no matter how absurd it may seem at first glance to identify that item with the spear."

Hermione appeared lost in thoughts. Then she whispered: "All right, then we should also add the following to our list: Hogwarts itself. Some of the oldest portraits on the walls. Peeves. The ghosts. And of course the founders themselves, down in the crypt. Especially the undead Salazar."

"What?" Harry glanced at her doubtfully. "But the spear can't be a _person, _can it?"

"A person?" Langdon stood for a moment in silence. "What a terribly strange idea... Although I _do_ remember searching for the Holy Grail a few years ago, and the Grail actually turned out to be..." He glanced quickly at Harry and Hermione. "Oh, never mind. Mature audiences only. If we are going to consider _people_ as well as artifacts, let's add the Heir of Ravenclaw to the list as well, shall we? I suppose Peeves does belong on our list, since he is as old, if not older, than the castle itself. I'm no good at interviewing ghosts, I'm afraid, but perhaps those of you who can see them could have a little chat with the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady. From what I understand, the Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick are later additions to the Hogwarts...ah, residents. Although I _don't_ see how a ghost could possibly be the Spear we are looking for..." He shook his head slowly. "The texts describing the spear clearly refer to it as a lance or spear, _lancea. _It _must_ be an artifact of some sort. Let's check the headmaster's office first, shall we?"

...

"Back again, I see," sighed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. "Another trip to the crypt tonight?" He glanced coldly at Harry and Hermione. "By Salazar's ghost, why are these students _always_ out of bed? In my day..."

"Hello, Phineas," said Septima softly. "We are trying to solve an ancient riddle."

"Are you, my dear?" The portrait's glance softened as it fell on Septima. "Have you come to seek my help?"

"We would love your help, Professor." Septima smiled sweetly. "We are looking for the Spear of Destiny."

The portrait chuckled. "Ah, the fabled spear! Hundreds have looked for it before you, lovely lady. They have all failed."

"We believe that it is concealed within an ancient Hogwarts artifact," Hermione stepped closer to the portrait. "Something as old as the Sorting Hat or the Pensieve."

Up on the shelf, the Sorting Hat stirred slowly to life as it name was mentioned. Harry reached up and brought it down.

"Who needs sorting _this_ time?" The hat sounded decidedly cranky.

"Nobody," said Langdon quickly. "We were just looking for something."

"What in Godric's name-?" The hat squealed indignantly. "Mr. Potter! Will you kindly take your hand out of my insides this instant!"

Harry flushed and dropped the hat. "Oh, I'm so sorry. It's just that I remembered pulling the Sword of Gryffindor out of you, and I thought that maybe you had other ancient treasures hidden in there... Like a spear."

"I certainly do not." The Hat was clearly not in a good mood. "Why do people always assume that I've got that spear tucked away somewhere in my fabric? A sharp sword is more than enough to conceal for a hat in my delicate condition, I can assure you."

Harry stared at the hat. "Who else has assumed that you were concealing the Spear of Destiny?"

The hat coughed, and a puff of dust rose from the old, frayed fabric. "Oh, that annoying Ravenclaw boy who used to sneak into the headmaster's office at night and interrogate me about all sorts of personal things. Now, what was his name? It's been a while... Oh, yes, Perks, that was it. Solomon Perks."

"Solomon Perks?" Hermione frowned. "Who on earth is that?"

"He was the Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament of 1792," said Langdon softly. "Rumored to have found the Spear of Destiny, used it to blow up the tournament arena, and to have hidden it again."

"You do know a lot, don't you?" said the hat grudgingly. "Well, let me assure you: Wherever that Perks boy may have found the spear, it wasn't in my fabric." The hat emitted a strange little giggle. "Although he _was_ a bright boy, young Solomon Perks..."

"Can you tell us where the spear is?" asked Langdon hopefully, but the hat just laughed.

"Tell you where it is? I think not. I am sworn to keep the secrets of the Hogwarts founders."

"_Are_ you the spear?" Harry picked the hat up and studied it carefully.

The hat sighed. "Do I look like a bloody spear to you? Of course I'm not a spear, child. If you want to find the spear, you've got to _think."_

"So you know where it is then?" Langdon glanced curiously at the hat.

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," said the hat airily, emitting a fresh cloud of dust. It giggled slightly. "Salazar hid it well. I expect it was Rowena who gave him the idea; Salazar himself was never all _that_ bright..."

"_Please._ We need to find it." Septima spoke softly.

"Sorry. Founders' secrets." The hat was clearly not going to cooperate.

Langdon reached out for the hat. "Speaking of the founders and their secrets... Can you tell me a little more about the House of Erkling?"

The hat was silent for a long moment. Then it muttered grudgingly: "Godric's beard, you _are_ a worthy Ravenclaw, aren't you? No, I can't tell you about the House of Erkling."

"The House of what?" Harry looked blankly at Langdon.

Langdon smiled. "The fifth house of Hogwarts, Harry. As invisible as Aristotle's fifth element, the mysterious ether, and yet right here, before our very eyes. The House of Erkling, into which the magical house elves are sorted."

Hermione gasped. "The house elves _have their own Hogwarts house_?"

"Of course they do." Langdon nodded. "They possess powerful ancient magic as well, you know. And yet, the house elves are taken for granted, practically invisible to wizards, just like the invisible _quinta essentia, _the ether."

"But the children of Edlynn will never possess the spear," whispered the Sorting Hat softly. "Salazar himself made me swear to protect the secrets of the spear, and I will continue to do so. Even from you."

"Wait a minute." Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait sounded indignant. "The Hat is sorting _house elves?_ What kind of nonsense is this?"

Langdon sighed. "Never mind, professor. _We need to find the spear._ Now, where is the headmaster's Pensieve?"

"In the cabinet here, usually." Harry opened an old oak cupboard. A plain grey font decorated with ancient runes was visible within. It was quite similar to the Pensieve Langdon had seen in the Room of Requirement, but this one seemed even older.

Langdon approached the time-worn cabinet and ran his fingers curiously over the strange writing that adorned the side of the vessel. "Hm. Interesting."

Septima muttered a _lumos _spell and held her wand up so he could see better. "They are Old Norse runes, aren't they, Robert?"

Hermione leaned closer as well. "Looks like it... No, wait, they are Anglo-Saxon runes, rather than Norse ones, aren't they, Professor? And some of them are the rare ones that are only attested in a few obscure inscriptions..."

Langdon nodded. "That's right, Hermione. Let's see if we can make out what they say. _Cw...ea...l...d...g._..? What the hell is a _cwealdg_? That doesn't make any sense at all. That's not even a word."

"Maybe it's the Anglo-Saxon word for Quidditch or something?" suggested Harry hopefully. Hermione buried her face in her hands and groaned.

"Or not." Harry flushed.

Hermione studied the ancient letters intently for a moment. Then she whispered: "Perhaps the runes are not meant to form a word, Professor. Perhaps they are meant to be read individually. The Anglo-Saxon runes are named after common objects; perhaps we are meant to read the names of the things, rather than the sounds they stand for." She brushed her fingers over the edge of the tank and read slowly: "C_weorð__. Ear. Lagu. Daeg. Gar."_

Langdon stared at her in wonder. Then he drew his breath and translated softly: "C_weorð__, _fire. _Ear, _earth. _Lagu, _lake. _Daeg, _day. Of course! The four elements: Fire, earth, water, and air, symbolizing the four houses of Hogwarts: Fire for Gryffindor, earth for Hufflepuff, water for Slytherin, and air for Ravenclaw."

Hermione glanced up at him, her eyes dark in her pale face. "But the last sign..." Her voice was a whisper.

"The fifth sign," said Langdon softly, "must stand for the fifth house. _Gar. _The sign of the house of Erkling."

"What does _gar_ mean, then?" asked Harry in a whisper. "Ether?"

Langdon shook his head slowly. "No, Harry. _Gar_ is a rare variant of _ear, _the earth rune that symbolizes Hufflepuff. But _gar _does not mean "ether". _Gar _is the Anglo-Saxon word for "spear". How very curious... Here, help me turn the tank over, will you?"

Working together, the four of them were able to lift the heavy stone vessel and turn it over. Langdon ran his fingers over the smooth stone surface. "I don't see any kind of opening. I thought for a moment that the spear may have been hidden inside a hollow space in the Pensieve or something, but I don't see that there is a way to get inside it."

"It certainly didn't feel very hollow when we lifted it." Harry rubbed his arm muscles.

Langdon sighed. "I think we can rule out the Pensieve and the Hat as possible hiding spaces for the spear." He glanced around the room. "Any other ancient artifacts in this room?"

They all looked around.

"Don't look at me; I'm not that old," hissed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. "None of the portraits are."

"I wonder..." Harry walked slowly over to Dumbledore's desk, where Fawkes the phoenix sat dozing in his golden cage. Harry peered into the cage. "How old are _you_, Fawkes? You have been around for centuries, haven't you? I wonder whose you were, before you were Dumbledore's?"

The scarlet bird opened a dark eye and glanced at Harry for a brief moment. Then it tucked its head under its wing and went back to sleep.

"Bird used to belong to Dumbledore's grandfather," muttered Phineas Nigellus Black. "And _his_ grandfather before him. The bird is as old as the hills. It may have belonged to old Gryffindor himself, for all I know. Still, it's a _bird, _not a spear."

The Sorting Hat burst into a fit of giggles. "You are never going to find that spear, you know. Not unless you put your thinking cap on..."

...

It was a chilly evening, and rain was falling steadily against the thick, leaded window panes. Harry and Hermione were curled up on the floor in front of the crackling fire in Langdon's room, while Septima sat in one of the armchairs next to Langdon.

"So it's all settled, then." Langdon sipped his tea contentedly. "You and I will apparate over to Montsegur this weekend, Septima, and explore the Perks cottage and any secrets that the magical school of Beauxbatons might hold. I called ahead for reservations; we will be staying at a delightful little bed-and-breakfast place near the ancient castle of Montsegur."

"Oh, Hermione and I are coming, too, of course." Harry glanced up. "Didn't Professor Vector tell you? She invited us to come along."

"Did she?" Langdon sighed. Well, of course he would much rather be alone with Septima, but perhaps having Harry and Hermione along wouldn't be so bad. Harry was clearly smitten with his clever classmate, so this could turn out to be a double date of sorts. Two couples, strolling leisurely along a clear lake in the moonlight...

"Ron's coming, too, of course. I invited him along," said Hermione softly.

Harry stared at her. "You..._what_? I mean... that's... er... great. The three of us. Yes. Great." He swallowed hard, and Langdon couldn't help feeling bad for him. _Poor Harry. Well, I guess there will be one couple going for romantic moonlight walks, while the three students hang out together._

"We will need three rooms at the bed-and breakfast, then, Robert." Septima smiled at him. "I will share with Hermione, of course, and Harry will share with Ron. Which means that you will have to share with Severus."

"With... With _Severus_?" Langdon was pretty sure that the momentary look of panic he saw on Harry's face was reflected on his own.

Septima sighed. "Of course Severus will be coming, too, Robert. Why, he knows more about magical history than anyone I know. It would be absurd not to bring him along." Her dark eyes twinkled. "Besides, this trip will give the two of you a chance to get to know each other better. I _know_ you could be great friends if you are willing to make an effort."

"Great friends. With Severus. Yes, of course, Septima... I can't wait."

Then Robert Langdon sank back in his chair and stared wordlessly into the fire.


	11. Chapter 11

**~The Book of Abraham the Mage~**

**Chapter 11**

**In Which Langdon Sees a Castle in the Air, Ponders the Meaning of Sticks, and Encounters a Formidable Lady.**

**...**

**_Author's Note: _**_Thanks for all reviews and comments! **DarkBuddha**, I love your idea that the Spear of Destiny could be Fawkes' cage. But, alas, no. I like the way you think, though... (*grins*)_

**_Wizarding Nerd Note: _**_When __describing the Beauxbatons shield of arms, I am following the book rather than the film. The book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire describes the Beauxbatons shield of arms simply as two crossed wands shooting out stars, whereas the film version of the coat of arms is a shield surrounded by stylized golden flowers and leaves, with two wands on top. _

_The precise location of Beauxbatons is difficult to determine. There is little evidence in the books, except for a passing reference to bouillabaisse, which is a dish characteristic of Southern France. J. K. Rowling stated during her reading at Maggie's Cancer Caring Centre in Glasgow on December 9th 2000 that she believed that Beauxbatons was located somewhere near Cannes, but she also said that she was not entirely certain of this. For the purposes of this story, Beauxbatons is not located near Cannes, but rather in Montségur, which is also in Southern France, but further to the west, up in the Pyrenees._

...

"Are you all right, Robert?" Septima Vector bent anxiously over Robert Langdon, who was still vomiting miserably into the lush grass of the French countryside. "Was it something you ate?"

"Fine," gasped Langdon. "I'm just… great. Apparating just doesn't seem to agree with me. Watch out, Septima!"

Septima stepped back just in time, and Langdon caught a distinctly amused glint in Snape's eye.

Ron Weasley regarded Langdon with an expression of great sympathy. "You know, I have heard of Muggles getting sick on buses. Maybe this is the same thing, Professor. Except worse."

"_Repello nauseam,_" said Hermione firmly, waving her wand at Langdon.

"Oh, good idea, Hermione," whispered Septima. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Langdon sat up in the grass, blinking slowly as the nausea began to abate. Hermione Vanished the remnants of the excellent lunch Langdon had so unwisely consumed before apparating, and Langdon scrambled slowly to his feet, breathing in large lungfuls of the almost preternaturally fresh air of the Pyrenees.

They were standing at the foot of a steep hill, fringed by blue-green pines and glossy dark green firs. All around them, wild rugged mountains rose into the clear, blue-tinged air. Above them loomed the outline of a fantastic structure Langdon recognized as the ruins of the Château de Montségur, impossibly perched on the very top of the steep hill. Langdon was of course familiar with the history of the fabled Cathar stronghold where over 200 faithful had been burned alive for refusing to abandon their mysterious faith, but he had never had an opportunity to visit the site. _But after the massacre it was rumored that some of the initiates, the _Perfecti, _had escaped a few days before, carrying with them a mysterious treasure, the _trésor cathare_. Perhaps it was a sacred book, or a collection of gold and jewels. But some say it was an object of immense power, perhaps the Grail itself. Or the Lance of Longinus... _

"Splendid, isn't it?" whispered Septima.

"Magnificent," agreed Hermione in a hushed voice, and even Snape gave a brief appreciative nod. Harry and Ron were standing silently, gazing up at... At what, exactly? To Langdon's bewilderment, all the others seemed to be looking at something slightly to the east of the Cathar castle.

"Er... What are you-?" He followed Septima's gaze. No, there was nothing there.

"Oh." Septima flushed slightly. "I'm so sorry, Robert. I sometimes forget that you can't see half of what's in front of you. Never mind, Dumbledore taught me a few spells that will help you see." She muttered a few words under her breath in something that appeared to be mangled Etruscan of some sort. Her words were followed by slight disturbance in the air to the east of the Château de Montségur. Slowly, something began form itself in the clear September air. The blurry outlines of a vast castle were visible now. Tall turrets and graceful parapets flickered into view, and soon a whole new hill, even steeper than the one they were standing on, was visible next to the one that held the Cathar ruins. This other hill was crowned by a castle of breathtaking proportions and beauty. It seemed to hover in the air like some fantastic illusion made out of clouds and sunshine.

"That's... Beauxbatons?" Langdon stared at the castle in fascination.

Septima turned to him with a smile. "Oh, good, you can see it! Yes, that's Beauxbatons, the French school of magic. It's similar to Hogwarts in many ways, although the curriculum is slightly different." She flicked her wand in the direction of the castle: "_Expecto patronum!_"

A little gasp came from Harry. "Professor Vector! Your patronus! It's... It's..."

Septima turned to him with a little smile. "Not what you expected, Harry?"

The Boy Who Lived shook his head. "Not... not really, no."

"_Wicked_!" Ron gazed into the air, apparently deeply impressed by Septima's invisible patronus, but Hermione frowned ever so slightly. Langdon sighed. Apparently, even the Etruscan language didn't have the power to make him see a patronus. There was a slight glitter of amusement in Snape's eyes again. Langdon pursed his lips. He was rather curious to find out what just happened, but he did _not_ want to make Snape's day any more perfect by reminding everyone yet again of the appalling depths of his... Muggleness? Muggledom?

"I've sent my patronus to Madame Maxime to announce our arrival," said Septima softly. "They should send the carriage for us in a moment."

Langdon looked doubtfully at the dizzying steepness of the hill. "A _carriage_?" A carriage didn't strike him as the most obvious way to travel up a hill so steep it hurt his neck to look up at the top.

"We could of course apparate up if you'd rather, Professor Langdon," said Snape quickly.

"No, thank you," said Langdon stiffly.

They all stood in silence for a few moments and gazed up at the fairy-tale castle in front of them. Langdon couldn't help but wonder what sort of carriage they were waiting for, but he did not want to ask.

Snape busied himself with collecting samples of the local flora, which was rather lovely at this time of year. The beech trees were already aglow with autumn colors, and the hillsides were covered in patches of autumn crocus in delicate hues of mauve, pink, and white. Snape gave a small exclamation as he came upon some spiky thistles with little burr-like flowers in a strange shade of metallic blue, and several of the odd little flowers disappeared into his robes.

"Sea holly," breathed Hermione next to Langdon. "Rumored to be a rather powerful aphrodisiac... Oh, dear, I hope Snape won't brew any _love potions..._"

"Let's hope not," agreed Langdon quietly. He glanced rather nervously at Snape. _Unless he intends it for a lady at Beauxbatons... _

"Curious name, Beauxbatons," Langdon mused to himself, watching Snape out of the corner of his eye. "_Beaux bâtons?_ "Beautiful sticks"? I wonder how they came up with that?"

"I suppose they have pretty magic wands." Ron peered up at the magnificent castle. "I seem to remember that the Beauxbatons students who came to Hogwarts in our fourth year were very elegant, the girls especially..."

Hermione sighed. "A _bâton_ is a _stick, _not a wand, Ron." Her voice sounded rather chilly. "A magic wand would be _baguette magique_ in French."

"Magic baguette? Are you sure about that?" Ron looked doubtfully at Hermione.

"Of course I'm sure, Ron. The word _bâton_ can also mean "club", or "spoke", as the spokes in a wheel. But I suppose the _bâton_ in _Beauxbatons _must refer to a wand, even if the word choice is a little odd."

"Hm." Langdon looked thoughtfully at Hermione. "It _is _a strange word to use for a wand. I wonder... Perhaps _bâton _refers to something else altogether?"

"Like a spear?" Harry lit up. "Could you call the shaft of a spear a _bâton_?"

"Come, come, Mr. Potter," said Snape softly, stepping up behind them. "I am certain that Professor Langdon expects you to dig deeper than that. By interpreting the _bâton_ in such a conventional way, you are merely buying into a larger cultural hegemonic metanarrative, which in turn..."

"_Severus!_" Septima shot him a dirty look.

"I was merely trying to take an interest in Professor Langdon's type of work, Septima. I made a perfectly legitimate observation."

"_Legitimate_?" Langdon stood for a moment, lost in thought. "Now, _there's _an interesting idea..."

"What's that, Professor?" Hermione turned to him eagerly.

"The _bâton_, or stick, is a common heraldic symbol, used in traditional coats of arms. The _baton_, also called the _baton sinister, _"or left stick" is used to signify illegitimate descent."

"Why would somebody put _that_ on their family coat of arms?" Ron blinked in confusion.

Langdon smiled. "Oh, you wouldn't, if you were the illegitimate child of a common farmer. Usually, illegitimacy was not something people liked to talk about in the Middle Ages. But if you were the illegitimate child of someone very powerful, like a king, you may very well choose to indicate that on your coat of arms by adding a _baton._"

"_Beaux bâtons_ - the "beautiful sticks", the lovely illegitimate heirs?" Hermione glanced thoughtfully at Langdon. "Interesting... _Oh._" She wheeled around as the sound of massive wings filled the air.

Langdon turned towards the sound and gasped in disbelief. An enormous pale blue carriage came swooping through the clear September sky. The flying carriage was pulled by what appeared to be a dozen winged golden horses of massive proportions. Their coats glittered so brilliantly in the sunlight that Langdon had to avert his glance.

As the carriage came closer, he Langdon could make out a crest on the side of it: Two crossed golden sticks, each emitting three golden stars. The carriage landed on the ground next to them with a soft thud, and a young man with long yellow ringlets peered out. He was dressed in an elegant, old-fashioned powder-blue suit with knee-length trousers and white stockings.

"Visitors for the château?"

"Yes, please." Septima stepped forward.

The young man nodded gravely and waved a wand. The next moment, golden steps descended from the carriage. The visitors climbed silently into the fantastic vehicle and sank down into soft seats of light blue velvet. The driver spoke softly in French to the horses, and the carriage floated up into the clear sky.

"Better than apparating, isn't it?" Harry smiled at Langdon as they soared up to the castle.

Langdon smiled and glanced out of the window at the magnificent view. "Yes, Harry. _Much_ better. So, did you get to know many of the Beauxbatons students when they came to Hogwarts?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really. They were always sitting at the Ravenclaw table at dinner and going to the Ravenclaw common room at night."

"Really?" Langdon frowned. "Why was that, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea. The Durmstrang students all spent time in Slytherin House. Some sort of ancient connection between Ravenclaw and Beauxbatons and between Durmstrang and Slytherin, I suppose."

"I see," said Langdon slowly. "That's... interesting, Harry. Very interesting indeed..."

...

"The headmistress is ready for you," said the driver gravely as they stepped out into a lovely courtyard hedged with fragrant pink roses and some curious plants whose tall, spear-like stalks were covered in large white blooms.

"Roses and asphodels? Still in bloom in September? Remarkable..." muttered Snape. He reached out and touched one of the star-shaped white flowers. "So lovely, almost like lilies..." For some reason, an odd hectic blush suddenly crept over his pallid features. He pocketed one of the blooms hastily.

Two pretty little girls in identical blue silk dresses greeted the visitors sweetly in French and begged them to follow. The travelers followed their guides in awed silence through some of the most splendid hallways Langdon had ever seen. The walls were beautifully decorated with frescoes, and the ceilings appeared to be made of pure gold.

"Watch out, Professor," whispered Harry in Langdon's ear. "I need to check with Hermione, but I'm pretty sure asphodel is used in some sort of death potion. I'd watch my drink really carefully this evening if I were you."

"Thanks, Harry." Langdon's glance flittered uncertainly to Snape. _No, he wouldn't... Would he?_

Finally, the little girls stopped in front of an enormous oak door and knocked on it, surprisingly loudly.

"_Entrez!"_ came a rather deep, musical voice from within.

The little girls pushed the door open for the guests and disappeared without another word. The visitors stepped into a lovely study. A figure rose from behind a massive mahogany desk.

"This is Madame Maxime, Robert," whispered Septima.

Langdon gasped. The lady who stood in front of them was a vision of elegance, dressed in black satin robes and adorned with shimmering opals that complemented her brilliant dark eyes. She was also about _ten feet tall_.

"Yes?" Madame Maxime fixed her luminous glance on Langdon. "You seem - surprised?" There was a distinctly cool note in her voice.

"I..." Langdon glanced up at the formidable beauty. He was about to say: "I have never met a giant before", when he suddenly recalled, with perfect clarity, the words of his first grade teacher on that disastrous day long, long ago, when he had been foolish enough to enquire about her weight: _One should never comment on a lady's size, Robert. Ever._

He cleared his throat, awkwardly. "I beg your pardon, Madame. I... was just overwhelmed for a moment." He whispered: "_Vous êtes très belle, Madame._"

"Ah." She smiled at the compliment. "Please, have a seat, my friends." She gestured at a row of upholstered chairs in front of her desk, which fortunately were of a more standard size than the massive one she occupied.

Langdon quickly introduced himself; Madame Maxime already knew both Septima and Snape from a previous visit to Hogwarts. "And these are three of our students, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger. You may have seen them during your stay at Hogwarts."

Madame Maxime regarded the three students with a smile. "But of course I remember you! You are friends of Hagrid's, are you not?"

"That's right." Harry nodded enthusiastically. "In fact, when Hagrid heard that we were coming here, he asked us specifically say hello to you."

Madame Maxime's dark eyes glittered. "Ah! He still thinks of me, then!"

"I believe he thinks of you a lot, Madame," said Hermione softly.

Madame Maxime turned to Langdon with a melancholy smile. "Hagrid and I became very close friends during my visit to Hogwarts, Mr. Langdon. Very close friends, indeed. At one time, there was perhaps even something more than friendship between us, but, alas, it did not last." She sighed. "He is a complicated man, you see, Hagrid, and a more lasting romance would have been too emotionally difficult for him, I am afraid."

"Hagrid is complicated?" Ron sounded surprised.

Madame Maxime nodded. "Yes, indeed. He confided in me, you see. So sweet... Hagrid has... how do you say this?... abandonment issues. His mother left him when he was quite young, and his father's family never accepted him. So after his father's death, Hagrid sought refuge in his beloved animals, his faithful companions..."

Langdon leaned forward, curiously. "Hagrid's father was a human wizard, wasn't he, Madame?"

Madame Maxime nodded. "Yes, he was. He was born into one of the most ancient pureblood families in England. Unfortunately, the Black family was always given to prejudice..."

"The _Black_ family?" Harry stared at her. "But... Hagrid's not a Black, is he?"

"Oh, yes, he is." Madame Maxime blinked rapidly, as if to rid herself of a sudden tear. "Hagrid is a true and legitimate heir of the ancient House of Black. But they would never acknowledge him. Never! He did not even assume his father's last name, which was rightfully his, out of fear of reprisals from the Black family. Oh, they would have been after him, all right, if he had dared to call himself by his true name _Rubeus Black..._"

"But... But who's Hagrid's father, then?" Harry sounded completely baffled. "I mean, Hagrid can't be Sirius' _brother, _can he?"

Madame Maxime sighed. "Hagrid's father was a certain Marius Black. As far as I know, he did not have any other children than Hagrid."

"Marius Black?" Harry pondered for a moment. "I remember that name! He was one of the people the Blacks had basted off the family tree. Wait, wasn't he a squib or something?"

Madame Maxime shook her head slowly. "That was just a rumor spread by the Black family to explain why they had broken off all contact with him. Apparently, they would rather have people think that Marius Black was a squib than have anyone suspect that he had married a... a giantess..." She swallowed.

"Marius Black was Hagrid's father?" Harry frowned. "Then Hagrid must be... Wait a minute... Marius Black was Alphard and Cygnus and Walburga Black's uncle. That makes Hagrid's father _Sirius' great-uncle_! So Hagrid is... Sirius' uncle? Sort of?"

"Maybe that's why Hagrid had Sirius' motorcycle? Because Hagrid was the only person in his family Sirius could trust with it?" Hermione thought for a moment. "I had always wondered how Hagrid ended up with Sirius' motorcycle, but Hagrid was terribly evasive about it when I asked..."

"Hagrid and Sirius were related?" Ron seemed to have a hard time grasping this.

"Why not, Ron?" There was a note of eagerness in Harry's voice now. "I never thought about it before, but they actually look quite a bit alike."

"_Alike_? You've got to be joking, Harry!"

"Apart from their size, I mean. "They've both got the same dark curly hair..."

"Fascinating as all this may be," interrupted Snape irritably, "I believe we had a few other things to ask Madame Maxime while we are here?" Langdon noted, with some amusement, that the mention of the name "Sirius" appeared to annoy Snape a great deal. "There is an ongoing murder investigation, is there not?"

A shadow fell over Madame Maxime's face. "Ah, yes, I have heard rumors of an unfortunate incident at your school. Such a tragedy!"

Langdon leaned forward. "One of the unfortunate young victims, Sally-Anne, used to spend her summers at Montségur. I believe the family has a cottage here. The Perks family..."

"Ah. The Perks family." Madame Maxime's face was expressionless.

"Do you happen to know where the cottage is located? We wouldn't mind seeing it for ourselves, to see if there are any clues there," said Septima softly.

"The Perks cottage. Yes, it's down in the village." Madame Maxime pulled out a piece of parchment and pointed her wand at it. "_Ostendo domum Corvorum!_"

Dark lines began to spread across the parchment, slowly forming a map of the village.

"_Domus Corvorum?_ The House of the Ravens?" Langdon stared at her.

"Yes. It's what the locals call their cottage. I have no idea why." Madame Maxime handed the parchment to Langdon. "Some of my students were friendly with the poor little Sally-Anne and spent some time with her during the summers; I will make sure you get to meet them while you are here. Now, you will all stay here at the château for the duration of your stay, of course. I will have rooms prepared for you. Dinner will be served at eight o'clock."

"I have heard that the food here is excellent," whispered Harry to Langdon.

Madame Maxime had apparently heard him, for she beamed at them. "Ah, yes. I think that you will find our food to be quite exquisite. Much lighter, of course, than the _very_ heavy British food. All that lamb!" She wrinkled her large nose delicately. "We serve no meat or eggs here at Beauxbatons, only fresh vegetables, grain and fish. _So_ much easier for the digestion, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." Langdon smiled up at her. _So the students and teachers at Beauxbatons are vegetarians who sometimes eat fish, _he thought to himself, _just like the ancient Cathars... How very interesting... I wonder where the Cathar Perfecti who escaped the massacre _did_ go with their mysterious treasure? Perhaps they went no further than the next hill over?_

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Madame Maxime regarded them all with a benign glance.

"Just one question, Madame." Langdon cleared his throat. "Would you happen to know anything about an old book called _The Book of Abraham the Mage?_ I believe it describes the whereabouts of a strange magical artifact, a sort of spear..."

Madame Maxime looked at him with inscrutable black eyes. "I am afraid I am not familiar with that book, no." She rose to her feet, and the visitors thanked her politely for her time.

"Any time, of course," she said graciously. She extended a large delicately manicured hand to Langdon. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Langdon." As she spoke, she pressed Langdon's hand, and to his surprise, he could feel a small piece of parchment being passed into his palm. He slid it rapidly into his pocket, unobserved by the others.

"_Enchanté__, Madame._" Langdon bowed slightly.

The visitors exchanged a few more polite phrases with the headmistress before stepping out into the hallway, where their small blue-clad guides had reappeared in order to show them to their rooms. As they walked through the lovely corridors, Langdon glanced surreptitiously at the piece of parchment Madame Maxime had given him. It read:

_Some things are for ravens' eyes only. Come to the west tower at midnight, and bring the raven lady only. Tell no others. _


End file.
